Silver
by Eltanin Rose
Summary: 'Please. I'm begging you. W-whatever you have pla-planned,' her eyes moved from the woman, to the Time-Turner and back again. 'You don't have t-to do i-it.' Sirmione.
1. Prologue: Broken

**Summary: **EWE. A moment of distraction alters Hermione's life. Trapped in the past, she struggles to decide between what is right and what is easy. A choice needed to be made, but before that, she had to live again.

Sirius Black's life revolved around an endless war and living his life to the fullest. His priorities were rather straight forward: Protect his chosen family, fight and fuck. Nothing else registered. Nothing else mattered. But then she came along and changed his world forever.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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Betaed by the wonderful _TheUnrealInsomniac._

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**Silver**

Prologue: Broken

* * *

Night had fallen, and though the spring chill surrounding her had long ago numbed her exposed flesh, Hermione couldn't help but smile.

The image of Ron clumsily moving her hair aside, so he could kiss her newly exposed neck, was at the forefront of her mind. The memory of his hesitant caress sent delightful little shivers down her spine. With perfect clarity, she remembered the feel of his moist lips, as they moved against her flushed skin and burned through her. The sensitive flesh below her ear tingled. A wayward curl had sprung back and with a soft smile, he had tucked it behind her ear as she stared into a pair of warm cerulean eyes, hidden behind a ginger fringe.

The memory of the soft kiss that followed made her heart flutter, and a content sigh escaped her lips - which quickly turned into a startled gasp as the spell that had been holding her hostage was lifted.

Bringing with it a sudden awareness and a wave of painful sensations.

Every inch of her body ached to some degree. Disoriented from lack of sleep, she blinked and felt the room spin and tilt around her. Her head was throbbing, her back ached and her hips and bum screamed in protest with every movement. Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt thick and swollen. It hurt to swallow. Her belly growled as a painful stomach cramp coursed through her. All her aches and pains however were easily dwarfed by an overwhelming thirst.

'W-ater... ple-ase,' she whispered into the darkness. Her voice hoarse from an equal mixture of dehydration and lack of use. 'Water...'

'I'm going to light a candle, to let your eyes adjust,' warned her captor. 'Prepare yourself sweetheart.'

Seconds later, a faint golden glow lit up the room and Hermione eyed the taller frame of her kidnapper.

'Please,' she begged. Her need for water growing by the minute.

'Of course love,' said her kidnapper. 'I do hope you forgive me Hermione. I took longer than expected and leaving you for this long had not been my intention.'

A twirl of a wand and mumbled spells later, found her drinking from a conjured goblet.

Though warm and funny tasting, the feeling of water moistening her mouth was heavenly. Never again she promised, would she take water for granted. Her resolve growing in strength with each swallow of the crisp liquid. Focused on nothing beyond satisfying her thirst, she didn't hear her kidnappers mumbled words. So that when the goblet vanished from her grasp, she cried out in surprise and longing.

'That's enough,' her kidnapper gently chastised. 'Too much too soon and you'll get sick.'

Closing her eyes, and breathing deeply, she fought back the choked sobs that threatened to escape her.

After several minutes, she had managed to calm herself down a bit. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was to once again deal with her kidnappers rapidly changing moods and ramblings. Mentally prepared and with her thirst no longer as demanding, she breathed deeply, and focused on her body.

_Days,_ her mind instantly supplied.

With this level of discomfort, she had to have been in the same sitting position for an extended period of time. Much longer than before at any rate.

She was shivering as well and her feverishness only enhanced it.

The warming charm had worn off sometime during the last few days. Leaving her exposed to the bitter cold that drifted in from the broken window. On average, that particular spell had the potential to last only a day, maximum two, depending on the caster's magical ability. She knew the witch holding her captive was powerful, the proof alone lay in the strength of her spellwork. So, she calculated, The Woman had been gone three to four days.

Which meant she had been here for over a week.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she had to fight back the now familiar urge to scream and shout at the unstable woman keeping her hostage. Doing so would only cause the elder witch distress, and who knew where that would leave her. The Woman's last visit was proof enough. In a fit of anger and desperation, Hermione had yelled and screamed at the mad witch. She had pushed the woman a bit too far it seemed because it had cost her days.

Another sob bubbled up her throat, threatening to escape once again. Which it did, moments later, when she shifted slightly and a painful spasm shot up from her hips to her spine.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to the sound of potion vials knocking together. Sure enough, there before her, hovering on the opposite side of the wards were three familiar vials. Bouncing off of each other, fighting to be picked first.

'For pain,' said the older woman, as a sparkling deep blue, pear-shaped bottle flew to her.

'Pepper-up,' and a round, charcoal grey bottle passed invisible wards with a slight hiss. Quickly followed by a long, thin vial with a burnt yellow potion inside, 'And vitamins.'

She didn't hesitate to drink them. It was useless to fight her at this point. Besides, The Woman would only curse her and order her to drink them anyway. It had happened enough times the first few days, before she decided to just go with it.

She was sure that Mad-Eye was cursing her from beyond the grave.

Perhaps she was putting too much trust in her kidnapper, but Hermione couldn't help the thought that the older witch did not want to hurt her. Or injure her at any rate.

So she drank. One after the other.

As usual, renewed energy coursed through her and her aches began to lessen or fade. All the while, The Woman had kept a running stream of cooing encouragement. _That's right. Drink up... Good girl... You'll feel much better soon enough._

Inwardly cringing at the motherly tone, Hermione resisted the urge to turn and look at the unmoving form laying a few feet away from her, as she finished off the last potion.

She wouldn't look.

Looking at the decaying, _still breathing_ body only worked to rattle her already flayed nerves.

After everything she had seen, and had been made to live through, she had foolishly believed that she could face anything life threw at her.

She had been wrong.

Nothing could have prepared her for the after effects of the Dementor's Kiss.

The blank look, the drooling, the slack jaw... it was by the book. Except for one minute detail. All the books on the subject had failed to mention that the flesh of a Kissed individual would begin to rot, even as the body continued to live. That nugget of information came from the elder witch herself.

The situation was made all the worse by the fact that the Kissed person, was a little boy, no older than seven. Her kidnapper, the child's mother.

She had quickly learned that acknowledging the little body led to The Woman's already delicate mental state to spiral out of control.

As if summoned by mere thoughts, The Woman crouched on the opposite side of the wards, and gave Hermione a beaming smile.

'Guess what?' she whispered excitedly. 'I found it!'

As if to prove her point, the raven haired witch reached into her robes and pulled out a black velvet pouch.

Tears fell down The Woman's face as a joyful laugh escaped her. Her watery smile growing wider as she softly rattled the pouch. A muffled tinkling sound ringing from within its depths.

Sparing it a glance, Hermione licked her lips and cleared her throat. While no longer painful, it was still scratchy. The potions she was forced to take couldn't do everything after all. Nor could it remove the fear from her voice.

'Please let me go,' she managed to rasp out.

As usual, The Woman's smile faded and her eyes grew hard.

'Stop saying that,' she said in a harsh tone. 'I've told you, _repeatedly_ that I can't do that!'

As she was prone to do, the woman glared at her, stood and began to pace the small room.

'After _everything_ I've done for you! And she still... Always asking me to -to...' She rounded on Hermione. 'Why can't you see that this is for the best?! _Why don't you understand?!'_

Hermione sat frozen as her eyes followed The Woman's every move. In an odd Stockholm Syndrome kind of way, the woman was right. She had been treated fairly well, all things considered.

She was kept warm, healthy to an extent and even though she had been Imperiused throughout, she hadn't been made to kill or do anything horrible. Rather, she had been ordered to focus on her happiest memories and to not move.

... Being held prisoner by her happiest memories.

She honestly didn't know whether to be grateful for that or not.

The Woman continued to stare at her, when no answer came, she shook her head as if disappointed and made her way to the only piece of furniture in the room. A candle filled table in which she carefully placed the small pouch. The contents of which caused a small _clunk _to ring out.

For some reason, the dull sound caused an ominous tingle to run down her spine.

The Woman turned. Her eyes settling over the runes surrounding her, as if studying them. Blue eyes moved upwards and though they roamed over her face, Hermione had the sense that the older witch was looking through her.

'You need to understand, so you can see the why,' the mother said as she nodded absentmindedly. 'He was right. Yeah... You need to know...'

A rattled breath broke the silence of the room then, making The Woman flinch. A flicker of desperation flashed in her eyes.

'W-we'd been promised their safety as long as we obeyed,' said the elder woman, as her eyes met Hermione's gaze.

'So of course we listened. Because we worked in the same department, we'd been split up... To guarantee our continued support they'd said... I hadn't seen Evie or Jonathan in months, but I hadn't worried. He would have never allowed... H-he would've... di-ed before letting anything happen to he-er.' The Woman's eyebrows furrowed and her eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other. Confusion marring her dirtied features.

'I don't know what happened to them,' she said in a small voice. 'I-I'd been working in the Brain Room when they started leaving...'

Hermione felt her gut drop, and her eyes widen as they roamed over the disheveled woman.

'-You're an Unspeakable,' she breathed out.

The Woman turned to her, and blue eyes met brown. She nodded once, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

'They were all Disapparating and yelling..._'Harry Potter is at Hogwarts! Harry Potter is at Hogwarts!'_... I-I-I don't know how I got down there, the corridors were so crowded... Death Eaters were fighting and people were running and dueling... Even at night, the Ministry was busy... But I-I had a-a-and I found hi-im. A D-Dement... it was o-over hi - NOOO!' Hermione could only stare in horror as The Woman clutched at her head and fell to her knees. Heart-wrenching sobs escaping her.

_The Ministry._

An image of a swarm of Dementors, rushing towards her amidst The Final Battle flashed through her mind. With it, several things clicked into place. If Death Eaters and ministry officials alike had been called to battle, then the Dementors had been left largely unattended. Nothing had stopped them from attacking...

The Woman had witnessed her son being Kissed.

She felt her heart break for the poor mother, and for the little boy who had just begun to live.

Unconsciously, Hermione's eyes left the now rocking woman and drifted over to the body of the little boy, laying on a stained mattress. His open eyes staring and unseeing of the wooden planks above him. Slow, rattling breaths escaping his opened mouth. The corner of which, Hermione noted in morbid fascination, was black and green, dark brown sludge oozing from the putrid flesh.

Her reverie however, was swiftly ruined by the distraught woman's yells. '_Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! EXPECTO PATRO-_NUM!'

Hermione cringed as The Woman's voice broke and cracked. Vaguely, she wondered if the older woman had injured her vocal cords.

In a distant part of her brain, she recognised the fact that between now and the morbid story telling, she had scrambled backwards into her little corner, taking refuge in its shadows. That the cold and jagged stone was digging into her skin, perhaps piercing it and drawing blood, didn't register.

She was terrified.

For all her intelligence, bravado and Gryffindor courage, she was no longer above admitting that she was at a loss as to how to escape. She didn't know how long The Woman had kept her prisoner. It was all a riddled mess of starvation and thirst, forced potion consumption and orders commanded under the pleasant haze of the Imperius Curse.

She didn't know where she was, how long she'd been here or if anyone so much as suspected that a mad Unspeakable had kidnapped her. Death Eaters would've been the primary suspects, easily followed by Voldemort sympathizers. Beyond them... Perhaps that was the extent of the suspect list. After all, who would ever think to consider a grieving mother dangerous?

Hermione flinched and pressed herself further into the shadowed corner as The Woman crawled to her son, and cradled him to her chest. Her cries of anguish vibrating off the cold walls, becoming painfully louder in its' echo.

'Ron, Ron, Ron, Ron,' she mumbled rapidly under her breath.

A distant hope that he would hear her through the Deluminator once again bloomed in her chest. She'd done this since the first moment of lucidity hit. When the knowledge came that it wasn't a Death Eater who had taken her, she had had a small bit of arrogant hope believing that she would be able to reach the distraught woman and talk her out of whatever plan she had. Promises of no harm coming to her had fallen short when the full weight of the situation settled on her.

Soon afterwards, she remembered the Deluminator and began calling out for him. Hoping with everything in her, that he would hear her voice and that the little blue ball of light he described, would appear.

He - _they_ - had yet to find her. A part of her, the one who had survived the years through circumstance and luck, continued to cling to the hope that she would be rescued.

It was only a matter of time she kept telling herself. She would be saved soon enough.

She resolutely ignored the part of her brain that insisted that that bit of fortune only related to Voldemort.

Her eyes moved over the purple runes, and just as quickly returned to the distraught woman.

She hadn't had time to study the lighter-shaped artifact, so she didn't know how it worked. Perhaps they had to be thinking of each other at the exact moment in time. Or they needed to want to be with one another desperately. Perhaps it only worked when the other was lost. Regardless, the situations were similar and so she called him every time her mind cleared.

Unfortunately, the moments of lucidity were too few and far between. Or so she assumed. She had no real sense of time.

She knew she'd been taken in the morning. Two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. After having assured Ron that she would be back before dinner, she had left the Burrow and Apparated outside of Hogwarts. The ancient castle had been deemed safe enough to enter a few days prior, and she had quickly requested to use the library. Ironically, she had been researching tracking spells.

She squeezed her eyes shut and fought against the tears that threatened to fall.

There was a small measure of comfort in the knowledge that Monica and Wendell Wilkins were happy, and blissfully unaware of her situation.

She had been careless.

She had formed a routine. Had been too damn distracted and had had too much confidence in her safety. She had foolishly let her guard down, at a time when the war was very much an open wound. She should have known better.

This was all her fault.

A warm tear ran down her cheek as she continued to stare at the weeping mother. With a trembling hand she quickly wiped it away. She had gone over that day repeatedly, wondering if she had missed a warning sign. She remembered walking past stationed Aurors, up the wooded path and... it had all happened so fast.

A painful blow to her back... flying through the air... The smell of earth and the feel of prickly grass against her cheek. Then nothing.

When she next opened her eyes she had found herself here. Alone, in a corner of what she soon realised was a cellar, encased within a glowing runic circle, and wandless.

Try as she might, the runes had been unfamiliar to her and so breaking the spell chain had been impossible. The electric and burning sensation the ward created had quickly turned her away from trying to erase a rune again. After hours of yelling and making as much noise as possible, she had given up on being heard. The runes it seemed, did much more than stop her from escaping.

She'd been alone those first two days. From the solitary window she could see blades of grass, and behind them she had witnessed night fall twice. After that, hunger, thirst and exhaustion had given way to restless sleep. On the third day, her captor had shown her face.

The Woman had straight, black, shoulder length hair. Dull blue eyes and thin lips. There was nothing exceptional about the older woman. With the exception of the crazed gleam in her eyes, and pinched look that came from rapid and sudden weight loss, she was easily forgettable. Everything about her blended her into the background.

Hermione's inner musings were abruptly cut short, as a slow and haunting lullaby rang throughout her stone prison.

_'Hush... little baby... don't say a word...'_

The younger witch ran startled and weary eyes over the broken woman. Her belly clenching at the fact that their routine had been altered.

The Woman had never sung before.

Beginning on the third day, a pattern had soon formed. Which, until today, had not changed. The Woman would show up, lift the curse, and feed her potions. After crying and rambling mindlessly, she would grow angry the moment Hermione begged for her freedom. In a twisted way, it had been reassuring.

That small comfort however, was now gone. All because of a child's lullaby.

Something in her captor's eyes had changed she realised with a sense of dread. Brown eyes moved away from The Woman to the table. The cause, she knew, could only be the unknown factor that was a small velvet pouch. Shaking, she watched as the older witch composed herself - much quicker than before she noted - lay her son down again, stood and picked up the velvet sack.

'You'll fix this,' she said, her voice thick and filled with conviction. A solitary nod followed her statement as she reached into the pouch, and pulled out a metallic chain. 'She will.'

Squinting, Hermione set her tired eyes upon the object The Woman was holding. Just as quickly, she felt them widen as a shocked gasp escaped her. Through the dim glow of the candle light, she easily recognized the shapes and curves of a Time-Turner.

Hermione felt her gut drop and the room spin around her. An overwhelming sense of fear threatening to overtake her.

'No,' she whispered in disbelief, even as her heart began to race. 'It's impossible. They were all destroyed... _They were all destroyed!'_

For several minutes the crazed mother said nothing. She had been staring lovingly at the object, a serene smile on her face. So intent had she been on observing the powerful time piece, that the younger witch was sure The Woman had not heard her. As a result, Hermione had been startled when the elder woman finally spoke.

'No,' replied the Unspeakable, as she continued to eye the gold medallion. A thumb caressing the small hour glass. 'That was a lie... Why would you think they would tell the truth?'

The black haired witch shook her head, giggling as she did so. 'Never trust those who hold the power, to tell the truth Hermione.' The elder woman's bright eyes met her stare. 'They are often the most dangerous.'

Hermione stared as the elder witch continued to giggle, unable to look away as a new wave of fear gripped her.

She finally allowed the thought that she had been keeping at bay to take form. If she was honest, she may have known it the second her tired eyes settled on the Time-Turner.

The gleam in the mother's eyes had been unmistakable. It had been the same longing look Harry had given her all those years ago.

This was the reason she had been gone so long. The solution the mother felt would save her son.

This was her purpose. The reason why she had been kidnapped.

'_I mark the hours, every one... Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you,'_ read The Woman.

Her hands twisting the Time-Turner so she could read the inscription.

'_-Are gauged by what you have to do,'_ finished Hermione quietly.

She had read those sentences several times during her third year. They had become engraved in her mind. As much a part of her as they had the golden metal.

She would never see her parents again, or Harry, or… Ron. She lost the battle, and tears that she had kept at bay fell fast and hard.

"Don't cry dear," said The Woman. Her voice soothing and comforting. "Shhh… It will be alright I promise. You will never have to be scared ever again… We'll fix this."

'No,' whispered Hermione. Her fear mutating into an overwhelming sense of desperation. _'No!'_

The older witch couldn't do this to her. _She couldn't._

'Please!' cried Hermione as the Unspeakable looked at her. 'Just let me go! _Please?!' _

The mother blinked, and stared at her with a puzzled expression on her face. Sincere confusion marring her tear tracked features.

'Are you aware that you were the first person in a century to use one of these?' asked the Unspeakable curiously. 'Then one day, out of the blue, rumours spread that Dumbledore had approached Croaker with a request to allow the use of one. For a clever thirteen year old little girl. So she could do homework. And to kindly keep the fact off the record.'

'Please,' sobbed Hermione. 'I want to go home! PLEASE!'

For a second, The Woman's eyes flickered with emotion. Her eyes roaming over Hermione, to the runes and darted across the room, taking in her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

'No,' mumbled the grieving mother, clutching desperately at her cloak. 'No.'

However, much like before, the broken woman's emotions switched from tears to anger in a blink of an eye. _'No!' _She snarled. 'You _have_ to do this! _Don't you see?!_ No one else knows how to use the damn thing! Croaker made sure of that! Always with his silence or half-truths!'

Hermione trembled in her confined space as she eyed the unstable woman.

Wand in hand and muttering to herself, the raven haired witch craddled the Time-Turner to her chest. Words of _I have to, she'll do it_ and _it'll be okay darling_ escaped her lips.

With a relieved breath that she had unknowingly held, she watched as The Woman sat the powerful object down and made her way towards her child. Gently picking up the small body and once again cradling him to her chest. The Woman ran a trembling hand through his brown hair. Smiling, she pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Though Hermione couldn't hear what was being said, she could easily see The Woman's lips moving against the shell of her son's small ear.

The silence grew heavy and for a while only The Woman moved.

Minutes that felt like hours passed. Against her better judgment, Hermione broke the quiet of the room.

With a fortifying breath, that she hoped calmed the tremor in her voice, and a lick of her lips, she spoke in a soothing tone.

'Please. I'm begging you. W-whatever you have pla-planned,' her eyes moved from the woman, to the Time-Turner and back again. 'You don't have t-to do i-it.'

Silent tears ran down the elder woman's face, as she bared her naked breast to the soulless shell that had once been her son. The Woman stared blankly into nothingness. _Hush Little Baby_ once again being sung under her breath, as she softly rocked the body of her son. Back and forth The Woman moved, silent tears cascading down her face.

'Please,' whispered Hermione.

'- I remember thinking, _such pretty lights_. My brother had been a few years younger than me and he'd said once that magic was a bit like _Star Wars_,' she said amidst a hollow laugh. 'All pretty lights and different worlds... He was right in a way. All great stories have an epic war between light and dark... and start with a tragedy.'

Hermione watched as The Woman grew silent once again and stared fixedly into space.

An abrupt flurry of movement found Hermione pressing herself further into the wall and the older woman standing below the window, gazing upwards into the darkened sky. Her tears glistening in the candle light.

'I'd lived at the bottom of the hill and we'd seen everything. Every flash and bang... Except that last. The spell had flown in my direction a-and it was so pretty! Like... like green lightning!' Another laugh escaped the older woman's lips. The childlike sound of it causing Hermione's insides to clench.

Just as suddenly as it came, it was gone, replaced by a frown and quiet tone.

'Nan jumped in front of me, and then she was on top of me, squishing me. She smelt like ointment and fags... Obliviators arrived soon after and they were made to forget... heart attack the doctors said... but I hadn't been, so I knew the truth... he'd said I needed to _understand_. That _our_ kind was to blame and that I needed to _see_ what we were doing... I didn't know until much later what the pretty green flashes of light were. Or how someone had been able to turn the clouds into a skull and snake... I hadn't thought of that night in years. Lately, it's all I can think about...'

The Woman raised her left hand and stared into her empty palm. Flexing her fingers and spreading them apart.

'It seems like all my problems came from magic,' she murmurred. 'So logically... magic too can yield the solution...'

'Please let me go,' begged Hermione. Heavy tears falling down her face as uncontrollable shaking coursed through her. 'I won't say a thing. Please.'

Ignoring her, The Woman walked to the table.

'I didn't want to do this to you Hermione. You must know that, but you seemed the perfect candidate. The last known time-traveler, and Harry Potter's best friend to boot... If anyone knows how to change things for the better, it's you. All you have to-'

'-No! Please! I don't want to go! You don't need to do this! Please stop!'

'-This is for the best,' The Woman said absentmindedly as she studied the knob of the Time-Turner. 'You'll see.'

As The Woman raised the time piece to eye level, Hermione began reaching out to the runic symbols. Not once taking her eyes off of the woman in front of her, she attempted to erase the nearest rune. The searing sting causing her to flinch every few seconds. Even as moisture pooled at the tips of her fingers and the smell of burning flesh and copper perfumed the air, she refused to stop.

A particularly vicious shock raced up her arm and a cry of pain escaped her. She briefly cursed her weakness as the woman's concerned gaze returned to her.

'Stop that! You're hurting yourself!'

Putting the Time-Turner down once more, The Woman stalked towards her. Hermione flung herself backwards into the wall. _'No!_ Stay away from me! Dont touch me! _Please don't do this! PLEASE!_' Heavy tears fell down her cheeks, as her heart beat a violent tattoo against her chest. 'PLEASE DONT DO THIS TO ME! RON! HARRY! _MUM!_'

The raven haired witch stopped dead in her tracks and slammed her eyes shut. Shaking her head back and forth, The Woman raised a single hand and began to beat it against her forehead. The loud sound of slapping flesh rang throughout the room, breaking the silence that had followed Hermione's desperate cries.

Hermione could do nothing beyond watch with trembling limbs, dry lips and rapidly falling tears.

Far too scared to do anything that would bring attention to herself, she mentally willed her shaking body to still. She was sure the elder woman could hear every rapid beat of her heart, and that every exhaled breath echoed across the barren walls. She wished they wouldn't be so loud.

Now that she knew her purpose, _why_ she had been taken... She would not make a sound.

No sooner had she thought that, did a strangled breath ring throughout the room.

The Woman's eyes shot open.

Hermione's wide eyes darted to the small decaying body, and just as quickly returned to the unstable mother before her.

She saw The Woman raise her wand and Hermione knew what was going to happen half a second before it did.

_'NO!'_ cried Hermione as she raised her arms in a feeble attempt at shielding herself.

_'-Imperio!'_

She heard the rushing sound, saw a rainbow coloured flash - and a sense of calm came over her as her mind became blissfully blank.

Her aches were gone and she felt herself relax as her troubles became non-existent. The only thing Hermione could feel was an untraceable sense of happiness.

Through the spell's haze, she was dimly aware of the woman's actions. And though she heard and felt the rune circle break, it barely registered. Vaguely, she knew that it had been important, and for a brief moment, Ron's face swam before her eyes. However before that train of thought was fully formed it was quickly pushed aside by a distant echo.

_'Pick up the Time-Turner... Pick up the Time-Turner...'_

A few steps later found her holding the small hourglass. Though unable to grasp the information, she was dimly aware of the fact that upon contact with her blood stained fingers, the golden time piece had began to rattle and glow a brilliant white. A final shudder and the eerie glow faded away, leaving behind a silver Time-Turner.

A brush against her arm, an exhilarated laugh and rapid muttering followed soon after. Occasionally, a few words started to break through the fog.

_'Fascinating... Unexpected... Problematic...'_

As Hermione's heart raced, the spell's grip lifted slightly and her awareness grew. Unfortunately, she had never been able to throw off the spell completely. So while she was somewhat aware of her actions, she was unable to do anything to stop them.

She saw the black-haired woman approach her and felt cold fingers brush her fringe aside. A strange expression on the elder woman's face, as the corners of her mouth began to curve upwards.

'Thank you Hermione. This - I...' the older woman shook her head. Her eyes bright and a beautiful smile on her otherwise plain face. Chapped lips caressed her forhead. 'Safe trip love.'

The Unspeakable raised her wand one final time, and a new echo whispered its command.

_'Turn the hourglass 23 times...'_

Though her hand shook as her mind and body fought the spell, she still followed its orders and began to count each turn of the hourglass.

_One... two..._

The detached part of her brain, that part that was inherently her, noted that an odd sense of accomplishment spread out from her chest with each completed turn. Even as her mind screamed at her.

_Stop, stop, stop_ it cried.

That one word, repeated over and over again in her head like a mantra.

_... Ten... Eleven... Twelve..._

For a fraction of a second, she physically felt herself falter as her mind cleared.

Suddenly, a distant voice, which sounded a lot like Ron's, began to push through. _Fight it! _it said, _Fight it Hermione! Are you a witch or aren't you?!_

As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Pressure behind her eyeballs reminding her that it was important she finished her task.

_... Seventeen..._

Tears blurred her vision as the hourglass' smooth surface turned over and over again in her palm.

She couldn't fight it. The spell was far too strong.

She didn't want to do this.

She wanted to go home.

She had to complete her task first though.

_... Twenty-three._

She felt her heart beat once, twice, three times and still, nothing happened.

It hadn't worked.

_Something has gone wrong,_ a voice whispered to her, and an emotion resembling hope bloomed in her chest.

Somewhere in the room, The Woman had begun to sing her lullaby once more.

Then the Time-Turner began to tremble. It started to burn that brilliant luminescent white again and all the air seemed to leave the room. Hermione felt a powerful gust of wind slam against her chest. Suddenly, she was flying backwards at a rapid speed. Colours and shapes were rushing past her, bleeding into each other, becoming one giant unrecognizable mass.

Only as the world she knew disappeared from under her feet, in a swirling vortex of colour and rushing sound, did the spell completely lift.

Her ears began to pound. She struggled as her body twisted and turned. Violent wind rushed past her, causing her hair to whip her in the face. She couldn't breathe and her lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

Then her feet touched solid ground. Her shaking knees buckling from under her, causing her to fall forward and land on her hands and knees.

Trembling all over, gasping for breath, and running on pure instinct she raised her head. Only to find herself at the end of a wand.

Following its upward path, she was soon staring into a pair of frightened blue eyes, framed by red hair. Flashes of colour highlighting his bloodied features.

As she studied him, a vivid green light danced across his bruised flesh. Momentarily giving his pale skin and wild eyes a greenish hue and turning the blood on his face a rustic brown. He looked as if he'd been Kissed she idly mused.

And then she began to scream.

* * *

**A****/N:** Welcome to my fic darling reader.

I admit to being very nervous about finally posting it. I've had this plot bunny in my head for quite some time you see. Then one random day, after yet another failed attempt at searching for an M-rated, EWE Sirmione fic... I finally gave up and wrote my own. I ended up with Silver. So yeah. Hope my little prologue was enticing enough to keep some of you interested. And even though this is my first time, I will try my best to give you guys a satisfying ride.

For those interested few, there are links in my profile of my dreamcast characters, and the song that inspired my little fic.

Erica.


	2. Lost

Many thanks to my beta David James (TheUnrealInsomniac) for turning my mish mash of words into an actual chapter.

* * *

**Silver**

Lost

* * *

It was quarter to midnight and the people of the small, working town which Sirius currently found himself in was fast asleep, but every so often, the sound of laughter cut through the silence.

This late at night and in a town this quiet? Last call had definitely come and gone.

On the whole however, the street had remained relatively quiet and with the exception of a few stragglers, alone. Normally, that silence and stillness would have made him nervous and given him cause for alarm, but in this particular occasion, it was heartening.

It meant they hadn't been found out or discovered.

With its old buildings and quaint homes you could easily see the bones of a once charming little town. Over the years however, it had fallen into disarray. Buildings had crumbled away to broken shacks. Shops were boarded up and closed down. Lawns were nothing more than dirt with the occasional yellowed patch of grass. All in all, the place had lost its charm.

Which must have been exactly why Voldemort picked this damn place to begin with.

With his long hair, torn jeans and an air of easy nonchalance, the seedy area suited Sirius rather well. To help complete the image, beside him and propped on its stand, was his motorbike.

Around him cigarette butts, some barely even smoked, lay scattered on the pavement. Silver grey smoke still wisped up from a few.

The black haired youth paid them no mind. He was far too concerned with his approaching mission.

Sirius raised his fag to his lips, only to find that it had burned out and become ash.

He flicked it away and reached for his pack. To his utter surprise, he found his fresh pack nearly empty. Picking up the last fag, he crumpled the box and dropped it.

Cigarette clasped firmly between his lips, he fiddled with his lighter.

As he did, a dog barked in the distance and he held his breath. He turned towards the sound.

Grey eyes roamed over shadows as he lit the fag. Inhaling deeply and with a casual grace that belied his rapidly beating heart, he leant against his motorbike.

Tilting his head back as he brushed his fringe aside, he scanned the skies. Nothing but stars.

Exhaling upwards he watched as grey smoke morphed and mutated with the light breeze.

The image of a smokey Dark Mark flashed through his mind. Blazing heat, terrified screams, flying spells and the smell of burning flesh followed soon after. He took another drag.

Sirius didn't want to call what he felt nervousness, but he had to admit that it felt damn close. He was just anxious. He always was before any mission. After two years, all of this really should have felt like second nature.

Except it didn't.

He had been fighting in this war for two fucking _years_ now.

Eighteen and fresh out of Hogwarts, he had been far too young to experience war. Twenty wasn't much better if he was honest.

He had been too young. Too naive and idealistic. Hopeful and damn arrogant at best, he had actually believed the end of the war was within reach.

Now that he was a little older and a bit wiser, he understood that he hadn't known shit.

Many battles would need to be fought before the war came to its inevitable end and it was bound to get a lot worse before it got any better.

Death Eater attacks every other day, families tortured to death, Imperiused children killing their family members, Giants destroying entire towns as Inferi roamed the countryside mauling Muggles, it just went on and on.

Throughout Hogwarts he had imagined these majestic battles between good and evil.

He had never truly understood what said battles would entail.

War was much more than fighting alongside your best friend for the Light.

It was dueling for your life. It was accepting the fact that you would probably have to take a life, while certainly risking your own.

He'd nearly died twice. _Third times the charm._

Raising his newly lit fag to his lips, he took a drag and just as quickly exhaled.

There was nothing glamorous about war.

War meant blood, pain and fear. He had been in the frontlines far too many times to not know this as fact. It still surprised him that some people didn't understand that.

Then again, he thought with another drag, these were the same morons who still believed the Ministry was in control. Considering the day's events however, that idea was downright laughable.

Earlier in the day Minister Bagnold had signed Crouch's Bill, which permitted the use of Unspeakables by Aurors.

It had been a startling sign of the times to some and it had actually caused an uproar. A small number of people thought the new law unnecessary. As the good guys they reasoned, there was no need to resort to tactics used by the other side. He exhaled as his mind buzzed with the stupidity that was wizarding kind.

Did they not understand that lines had already been blurred ages ago?

This new law didn't do bugger all because contrary to popular belief, Aurors had been using the Unforgivables long before any stupid bill had been signed.

Could anyone really blame them?

Human instinct at its most basic need is survival. So _of course _scared witches and wizards fighting for their lives, dueled to kill. What the hell did people expect?

For Aurors to use _Expelliarmus_ when an _Avada Kedavra_ was being fired at their heads?

'Fucking morons,' he muttered.

It was ridiculous that it had taken this long for that particular bill to pass. Not to mention frustrating as all hell. Damn bureaucratic bullshit. This, _all of this,_ was the Ministry's fault. Had they had the balls to act sooner, none of this would've happened. The threat could have been nipped in the bud before it ever got to where it was now if Ministry officials hadn't been corrupt and the offices full of lazy pricks. By the time Voldemort had been acknowledged as a true threat, it had been far too late. There had been more than a few warning signs, rumours and whispered suspicions.

And yet, nothing had been done. Now their lives lay in the hands of a psychopath hell bent on ruling them all.

It was doubtful that Voldemort could have ever been stopped. Determination is a bitch of a driving force after all, but had he been watched he wouldn't have been as powerful.

Innocent men, women and children died every other day now. All because idiots sitting on silk cushioned seats had been too stupid to act.

Now the man commanded an army of dark creatures and pure blood elitists who didn't think twice about ending a life.

A particular mask with distinctive markings flashed through his mind then. A familiar set of grey eyes staring back at him from behind it.

_Run you idiot! Get away from here! GO!_

Clenching his jaw, he quickly shut that train of thought down.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He checked his watch again, fifteen minutes to go.

It was easy to believe, especially with days like today, that the war would never end.

Fact was, that that damn law was nothing more than a simple formality.

On the opposite side of things, those who had been physically touched by the war, praised the Ministry's new stand.

Fight fire with fire, lessen their ranks as they've been doing to ours, a life for a life etc. etc.

Either way, the fact that the Minister had signed the bill was proof enough that the war was nowhere near ending. It was an alarming piece of information that the unknowing masses had not been prepared to hear. It was now glaringly obvious, even to them, that the war was going from bad to worse.

Ignorance was no longer an option.

All things considered, no one in the Order had been surprised. Least of all Dumbledore. It wouldn't surprise him if the older wizard had known of this bill from the beginning. The connections his old Headmaster had were quite impressive after all. No matter what, it seemed like he was always two steps ahead of the game. It was rather difficult to surprise that man, as little to nothing shocked him.

And that was where the root of his troubled thoughts lay.

For the past month or so, the formidable wizard had appeared to age a decade.

It was easy to believe that it was the war's doing, but it would have been a lie.

Dumbledore's mood swing had been far too sudden. Too abrupt.

The implication that the powerful wizard had been shaken made Sirius uneasy. He couldn't begin to explain how much that fact bothered him.

It didn't help that Moody appeared more paranoid than usual.

It was all becoming too much. Fighting a war with no clear sign of ending was starting to take its toll.

Giving up was not an option however as the result didn't bear thinking about.

He checked his watch again.

Twelve minutes to go. He couldn't wait anymore. Anticipation was doing a number on his gut. With a final drag of his fag he pushed himself off his motorbike and made his way around the corner, towards the mouth of an alley.

He was exhausted. Perhaps Remus was right. A night off wouldn't hurt. This fucking war wasn't going to end anytime soon. Nor would it suffer a devastating blow if he didn't volunteer for every mission.

Logically, he knew that, but still.

He checked his watch and groaned when he saw the time.

Twelve minutes to midnight.

Cursing, Sirius raised the time piece to his ear, half sure that the bloody thing was defective.

James and he were to serve as the distraction tonight.

Their mission, to attract the attention of the low ranking idiots stood outside a Death Eater hideout. A clumsy, Omniocular carrying James would be discovered nosying around. Alert and ready, his best mate was to dodge and run. Never ones to resist easy prey, Death Eaters would naturally give chase. Prongs would then make his way to the alley where he would be hiding, ready to cover his friend. Together they would reach his motorbike and flee.

Again, Death Eaters would give chase, though more out of anger rather than sport. All the while, hidden Order members would storm inside and raid the place. It was their responsibility to keep the Death Eaters distracted and away from calling back-up. An hour's worth of chasing was requested with the firm order to keep the masked wizards at ground level, and to not be seen doing magic. Or so demanded Dorcas the Great Obliviator.

It was an easy plan. Safe as far as Moody had been able to see and in Sirius' professional opinion, bloody fucking dangerous. Experience had taught him that there was no such thing as an easy mission. Plus, he didn't exactly trust Mad-Eye's definition of safe.

The Auror had just lost a chunk of his nose on what the mad bastard had dubbed, one of the easiest missions of his life. He felt justified in doubting the older man's judgment.

This easy mission could just as well be the one that did him in.

At the thought, his stomach clenched, bile rose up and he lost his lunch at the alleyway entrance. Embarrassed and disgusted by the smell, he picked up a brown newspaper off the ground and covered his vomit.

Spitting, he checked his watch.

Ten to.

'Fuck's sake,' he growled. The closer it got to twelve, the farther away it seemed.

With a final sweep of the street he made his way towards the middle of the alley where an overflowing bin stood.

Doing his best to ignore the potent stench of rotting and spoiled food, he nudged a nearby box with a boot clad foot. It moved slightly. With a firmer push, the box scraped closer to the bin. It was only then that he spotted a suspicious looking puddle. He looked around for more newspaper. There was none.

Not at all enthusiastic with the fact, he crouched down between the box and the bin and over the puddle.

The combined smell of rotten egg and stale beer assaulted his nose. As the seconds passed and the longer he sat there, Sirius began to taste the unpleasant stench in the back of his throat. He gagged and his eyes watered.

Fighting the urge to be sick again quickly took a backseat when sudden noise alerted him to an audience.

Without a thought he reached for his back pocket.

In the alley entrance, staring at him, were three gorgeous girls and a bigger bird with big tits. All four were giggling. One was even pointing.

Grey eyes zeroed in on the outstretched hand and his breath hitched as everything slowed to a standstill.

For one heart stopping moment he'd imagined a wand aimed at him.

_Run you idiot! Get away from here! GO!_

... Except there was no wand.

No uttered incantation to end his life. Not this time. Not yet.

He shut his eyes and attempted to steady his rapid and shallow breaths. His pulse pounded in his temples.

Laughter. He heard laughter. Not screaming, cursing or killing.

He opened his eyes and studied his surroundings. Seeing everything and nothing at once.

'Muggles,' he shakingly whispered. 'Just Muggles.'

Cold sweat ran down his body, causing his t-shirt, with its phoenix logo to cling to his torso.

Just four swaying Muggle girls, laughing at the guy crouched by a bin.

How he hated giggly drunk bitches.

As they eyed each other a bang rang out, startling him much more than he would ever dare admit. Looking upwards, he saw ruby sparks fizzling out.

He needed to get the Muggle girls away from here and quickly.

'Oi!' he shouted, successfully drawing their attention back down to him. 'What you looking at? Never seen a bloke take a shit before? Go on, piss off you perverts!'

More giggles. As they staggered away his eyes remained on them.

Only when they became a vague mass in the distance did his focus return to the darkened alley in which he sat.

He loathed to admit it, but a part of him envied them. Here he was risking life and limb sat over what may-or-may-not-be-piss, and there they were, pissed and laughing. Completely unaware of the danger they had been in. Or that the bloke with the shits may have just saved their lives.

_Taking a shit._

Were he to die, those would be his last words. He was oddly okay with that.

The highly expected, and yet still surprising sound of rapid footsteps caught his attention.

His hold on his wand tightened.

Half a second later, a wide eyed James came running down the alley at full speed. Occasionally throwing a random spell over his shoulder.

'They've got bloody brooms!' he yelled as he ran past.

In the blink of an eye, his best mate reached the alley entrance, shot a spell in his direction and quickly turned right.

'Shit!'

Jerking to avoid the spell, his back slammed into the wall, and his arse fell right on the puddle. A cold and wet sensation crept up his back just as the massive container to his left glowed bright yellow. With a great hearty belch, the bin regurgitated all its contents and rubbish exploded into the night sky. He heard their disgruntled yells, and only then did he realise how close the black robed wizards really were.

'PADFOOT MOVE!'

He didn't need telling twice.

Sirius ran towards his messy haired friend, dodging spells as he did so.

He saw James wave his wand once more and rubbish flew up and behind him.

As he reached the alley entrance he looked back and saw the two lead Death Eaters collide and fall. The ones behind them struggled to maneuver around the rubbish attacking them. A quick count told him seven were still airborne.

Sirius skid to a stop, raised his wand, and with a hasty swish and flick, the box shot upwards with an innocent _ping._ The broom shattered from under the grunting wizard's hands. With a resounding crack the Death Eater fell face first onto the unforgiving pavement and didn't move again.

Sirius didn't stop to see anything else.

He needed to get to his bike.

'You could've fucking warned me!' he growled as he reached his panting friend, now stood next to his motorbike.

In response James grabbed him by the bicep and pulled, causing him to stumble just as a fireball passed his left ear.

Recovering, he reached for the handlebar, threw his leg over the seat and sat down.

Upon contact the engine revved up and the headlight flickered on. He felt James sit behind him and with a step on the pedal, they were speeding down the street.

Spells rained down on them. Some missing them by a mere foot. Though aimed at him with the intent to injure, even he had to admit that their spell work was embarrassing. Behind him, he could hear James' return fire and by the sound of it, a Death Eater had gone on the defensive. He heard a muffled yell, swiftly followed by the faint clatter of a fallen broom. James laughed as another Death Eater landed before them, a few feet away from his rapidly approaching motorbike. He felt James move and the bike wobbled.

As they neared the wizard Prongs' magnified voice called out. 'Catch!'

A golden blur flew over his head and the masked wizard reached out a hand to do as he was told.

Seconds away from crashing into him, the Death Eater disappeared in a flash of light.

He shook his head in disbelief as his best mate cheered.

Twenty-three. Fucking unbelievable.

Cutting through alleys, main roads and a rather large park, they drove on. All the while spells flew past them or clashed with James' shield.

Their level of skill really was pathetic.

Either these wizards were truly lacking in ability - or they were youngsters fresh out of Hogwarts.

_Run you idi- _he pressed down on the pedal hard. With a burst of speed they shot forward several feet in a matter of seconds.

A streetlight appeared in the distance, signaling a fast approaching intersection. With a slight nudge, the bike turned left. James' shield crackled as several spells hit at once. They flinched, ducking their heads on instinct.

Inexperienced or not, the robed wizards still outnumbered them.

A fireball hit the road and he swerved to avoid the smoking pothole. Several more spells flew past.

There were far too many of them and they were far too close.

He turned right, only to find he had driven onto a cul-de-sac. His eyes searched for an alley, a path, anything to aid their escape. There was nothing but quiet and dark homes, framed by sturdy trees.

Glancing at his watch he swore. They couldn't fly yet. It was still too soon, but he was tempted.

He and James were now fast approaching the end of the street. There was nothing for it, they would have to duel. It wouldn't be much of a fight he had to admit, but it was still too public an area. Hopefully no kids slept by the windows. If they were lucky, the trees would take the brunt of the spells.

He stopped the motorbike.

Sweat dripping down his back, adrenaline pumping through his blood, and with a pounding heart he got off the bike and waited for the Death Eaters to close in.

Confident in their victory, the masked wizards stopped firing spells and began lowering their height. White, unmarked masks gleamed in the moonlight. Black robes billowed behind them, catching on twigs, leaving a trail of falling greenery in their wake.

With a rush of inspiration Sirius reached for his wand. In one swift move, the two black haired youths raised their wands. With the sound of creaking wood, the trees came alive. One after the other, ancient branches swung down onto the black robed wizards and Death Eaters fell from the sky.

Dazed and groaning, they landed amidst torn branches and innocently falling leaves. He spotted a broken broomstick amongst the rubbish and tree debris. A foot away, still holding on to its polished handle, lay a convulsing Death Eater.

One down, four left.

James and Sirius jumped back on the bike as three of the Death Eaters started to stir.

'Mate?!' yelled James over the engine's roar, 'You're wet and smell like piss!'

Famous last words. Huffing a laugh, he revved the engine and turned the motorcycle around. With a screech of its tires and the smell of burning rubber behind them, they once again found themselves racing down the street at full speed.

Around and behind them, lights flickered on. Chances of The Great Obliviator hearing of this increased by the minute.

Ah well, she'd get over it.

They sped along through alleys, darkened streets, empty roads and a motorway for what felt like hours. The mission, now long over and forgotten, had given way to an inpromptu high speed joy ride.

He didn't know what brooms the Death Eaters had, but he felt a rush of smug pride at the fact that his motorbike outran them all … as well as Muggle police cars.

He smirked.

As they'd neared the outskirts of London, according to a road sign, a police car had appeared out of nowhere and had been chasing them for about twenty minutes now. Its loud siren almost drowning out the bike's engine.

He couldn't see the Death Eaters. The police car's headlights saw to that, but he knew they were there. He could still feel the bastards.

Three Death Eaters were flying after them in a Muggle street, and now the bobbies were chasing them as well. He laughed as he took a sharp turn, and the car's wheels screeched behind them.

James' exhilarated laugh rang in his ear. 'Go faster!' he yelled. So he did.

The Great Obliviator would _definitely_ be giving them a stern talking to Sirius thought with a barking laugh.

If he survived the night, Statue of Secrecy speeches would be in his near future once again.

Merlin this war was exhausting.

Death Eaters, Muggles and the Ministry.

One war, three different fronts.

He really was tired.

He didn't know whether to call Dumbledore's recent personality change another war front or not, but it sure as hell felt like he should.

Something big was happening and he didn't know what. That he was powerless to stop it left him feeling overwhelmed. He really hated not being informed and having information kept from him.

He didn't know what the future held. Didn't even know if there _was_ a future for him to be had. He could just as easily die tonight.

Whatever was coming, whatever it was that had changed, he would face it head on. He had no other choice. Until then, he only had to survive.

At the moment however, none of that mattered. Because here and now, he was fighting and he was alive. Everything else could wait.

The only thing Sirius knew for certain was that with his best friend at his back, racing against death and law, he was invincible.

* * *

Hermione felt invisible whenever Albus Dumbledore looked at her.

His stare was a bit too penetrating and far too knowing. It gave her the sense that he could see everything that made her her. As if she was crystal clear to him. Like he could see right through her.

Perhaps he could. Or maybe, she was just easy to read. It could just as well be a bit of both.

There was no way to keep a secret from him, she was an open book laid out before him. Ready and waiting for his perusal. Every chapter an important piece of the plot that would tell her story.

It made her feel judged, awkward and uncomfortable in her own skin. It terrified her to think that the longer he looked at her, the more he would come to know.

She didn't like him staring at her. It made her feel like he was studying her.

'Have you purposely locked me out Miss Granger?' he asked her yet again.

He'd phrased it differently though. As if switching the words around, or replacing one with another would change anything.

'Hermione...?'

She hadn't. Not intentionally anyway, but she hadn't said as much. So the silence, which may as well have been an admission of guilt, lay heavy between them.

Sat opposite her, he'd maintained his silent watch as she fiddled with her sleeve. She just couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.

Other times, his gaze made her feel guilty. As if he knew all her dirty little secrets. Most likely he did, now that she thought on it.

He never had asked her who she was. How she had come to be here or anything personal.

Yet, upon waking, his first words to her had been 'You are safe now Miss Granger.'

Her head had spun.

From the moment her eyes settled on his wizened face, she'd known exactly what had happened and what it had all meant.

Dumbledore was alive and he was years younger than she ever remembered him being. That alone had spoken volumes.

After a series of rapid fire questions that would've put any game show to shame, she had answers.

She was in 1979. She had arrived on the 17th January. She was to be kept in the castle and stay in her room. She could not be seen. She cannot be heard. The walls had ears, eyes, and mouths after all. Not to worry, he would handle the situation. The time turner was safe. _She_ was safe.

Except she wasn't.

The world had shifted and nobody knew it but her. 'Miss Granger?'

According to Dumbledore, she had appeared at an Order safehouse in the middle of a battle, began to scream and had to be Stunned. Because of her odd arrival, at that exact moment no less, Gideon Prewett had delivered her to him. When she had been resusitated, she'd been unresponsive. He claimed it'd lasted a week.

That small fact replayed in her head.

Her mind had failed her. The one thing she had relied on to save her, turned out to be the one thing to betray her the most.

The Imperius Curse, shock and then her mental breakdown.

Weak. She was _weak._

Hermione hated that she had been reduced to this.

It hadn't escaped her notice that while she had asked question after question, he had not asked her a single one.

The curly haired witch suspected that he already knew everything he needed to know anyway. Legilimency was a highly skilled art and though nothing she learned of the craft stated it could only be performed on an alert mind, she suspected it had been used on her when she had been unreachable.

How else could he have known her name?

She should have felt violated at the fact. Insulted and angry. Disgusted at the complete breach of her privacy.

Yet... she couldn't bring herself to care.

She didn't have enough energy in her to muster up the appropriate amount of indignant rage.

She shifted in her seat and the room spun. Shutting her eyes, she breathed in deeply through her nose.

'Miss Granger, when was the last time you slept?'

When had she slept?

She didn't know. She could easily lie and say last night. But he'd know. He always knew things didn't he? Especially now and especially about her because she was an open book and because she didn't belong. She was a dangerous, non-entity with no right to exist here. So he kept a close watch, and asked her questions that he already knew the answers to.

Fact was, she couldn't sleep. It evaded her. She'd tried, but she may as well not have, for all the good it did.

Hermione had lost count of how many nights she had lay in bed and waited for sleep that would never come.

Instead, she'd find herself staring at the darkened stone above her. Watching as the glow of torchlight danced across the ceiling and gave way to golden morning light. Birds would sing, owls would hoot and the ancient castle hummed with life.

The need to sleep would then give way to her, willing herself to get out of bed. Only to find that in the blink of an eye, another day had passed her by.

After three weeks, her skin had begun to itch with the need to contribute. To research. To do _something._

She wasn't some helpless little girl in a fairy tale. She couldn't sit idly by, locked in a tower waiting to be saved.

After much begging on her part, Dumbledore had offered to let the house-elves supply her with books.

She politely declined his offer.

Instead, she proposed the idea that she be moved to the Room of Requirement. To her surprise, he hadn't known of it. She doubted it would affect the timeline if he became aware of its existence sooner rather than later.

So she was moved. From a hidden room reserved for the current Headmaster's family, under the cover of night, and a powerful Disillusionment charm, they moved silently towards what the house-elves knew as the Come and Go room.

After stepping inside, she found herself in her childhood room. Photographs of her parents, the Weaselys, Dumbledore's Army, of Harry and Ron smiled back at her.

She'd slept and had felt at peace for the first time since waking in 1979.

Then her research had begun.

Upon her command, book after book on the theory of time travel materialized. Hidden away from the world as she was … it became far too easy to believe that here in her room with a book, that everything was as it should have been. She soon found herself losing track of time.

It also didn't help that here in the Room of Requirement, days and nights blurred together.

She struggled to find a reasonable explanation. Something, anything, which would justify her lack of sleep and take away the saddened look that was surely aimed at her by the great Albus Dumbledore.

Finally, she decided to answer with an honest, 'I dont remember.'

'You cant recall?'

'No.'

'I see,' he said quietly. 'Considering your situation, a lack of sleep is most assuredly understandable.'

Still avoiding his eyes, she nodded.

More silence.

'The house-elves have informed me that you have not been eating or taking proper care of yourself.'

Shame. Embarrasment. Guilt.

Clothes stained and sticky, her hair a tangled, oily mess, her right hand fingers now a purplish hue from all the ink... She knew all of these things to be fact.

She just hadn't cared at the time. They did not matter, not when she had other, more important things to worry about. Looking after herself seemed too trivial an issue when compared to the overall picture. So yes, she had neglected or forgotten a few things. But she was fine. She was okay. It wasn't a big deal.

'I'm not hungry,' she murmurred.

'Hermione-'

'-I found new research!' She got up and made her way towards the cluttered desk. All of a sudden realizing how much mess was strewn about. Books, parchment and broken quills littered the floor and seats, the bed, the tables …

When had that happened? When had the room become so messy?

Embarrassed at having Albus Dumbledore see this, she willed the room to tidy itself up. A blink later, stacks of books and parchment sat on her desk. The documents she had been looking for moments before now lay proudly atop a stack of parchment.

Picking them up, she made her way back towards Dumbledore.

'In _Time Unwound _or_ Defining and Explaining the Paradox of Time. _Maybe it was_ Time-Turners: Myth or Fact_? I don't remember.' Shuffling through the parchment she found a page she'd been looking for. 'It was _Magical Theory of Time_. In chapter 112, page 978 it says that under special circumstances, the Ministry of Magic can supply another Time-Turner, but that they need to be told of the severity of the situation first. I know you said that was unwise and I understand, but you know people who would be able to bend the rules Professor. You're Albus Dumbledore. This is another one of those situations.'

He sighed. 'Miss Granger.'

'I know what you're going to say Professor.'

'Hermione-'

'-Please sir! Just listen!' she pleaded.

'That's enough.'

Though barely spoken above a whisper, Hermione felt the full impact of those words and shame flooded her. The weight of his disappointment crushed down on her. She finally looked at him.

He looked tired and worn down. As equally overwhelmed and lost as she felt.

'I'm sorry.' For doing this to you. For everything.

'No my dear,' he said. 'I am the one who is sorry. After everything you have been through, I had asked you to trust me. Without so much as a shred of doubt have you questioned my actions since. Your faith in me means much more than I am able to say Miss Granger and I in return, pay you back in kind with failure.'

'That's not true Professor.'

He raised a hand to silence her. 'It is my dear. Forgive me, but it is. I had seen it then, as clearly as I see it now. You have not been coping well. Under your current circumstances, you are handling the situation well. As well as can be expected at any rate. Better in fact, than would most. That is not to say however, that you are well. Against my better judgment, I still allowed you to remain here,' he moved his arm across the Room of Requirement. 'In perfect solitude. It was to ease your discomfort, I told myself, as you helped research time-travel. Knowing perfectly well that your research would yield no results.'

'-I could help!' she argued.

The Headmaster shook his head. 'You cannot help.'

'The books …'

'Are based on educated guesses with facts thrown in to support the authors' theories.'

She stared down at her notes with her cramped writing. At the ancient books scattered around them.

No, she refused to accept that. It was a lie. Shed find something.

She would.

She had to go.

'Magic at this level is far beyond even my scope of knowledge. And I must admit that even if your notes were to provide a small fraction of light on the situation, I would no longer allow you to continue your work. It has overwhelmed you and you have focused on little else since. Researching and taking notes has, forgive me, become an unhealthy obsession.'

She squeezed the parchment held between her hands. Her miniature and messy writing mocked her. No longer desperate to read her notes and share her findings, she placed them on the table between them, written side down. It didn't help.

She had written on the backs of the parchment as well.

'I explained to you, soon after you recovered, the situation at hand. That immediate action would be impossible,' he stated and she nodded.

In her time, she had read enough material on the First Wizarding War to know that the Ministry was infiltrated by spies and cursed individuals. The Department of Mysteries had not been an exception.

One wrong move on his part and her safety would be compromised.

'Though I know of many individuals who could be of some assistance, I feel most secure speaking only to one man in regards to your situation.' Sighing, he removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. 'Reaching him however, has proven to be most difficult.'

He put his glasses back on and pierced her with his all knowing stare.

'It seems that certain Ministry officials have been tagged and are under watch for their and, I'm sure, our safety. Saul Croaker appears to be one of these individuals.'

At the mention of Croaker, Hermione raised her head and stared at her former headmaster.

'I've heard that name before,' she said quietly.

He nodded. 'No doubt you have read of him. He is, as of today, considered the topmost authority on time-travel.'

_Always with his silence or half-truths!_

She shook her head and swallowed a painful lump. 'No. Not from books. The Unspeakable who sent me here ... She mentioned him.'

'All the more reason to speak to him alone,' he said somberly. Silence, and then, 'Miss Granger …'

'-What about him?' She asked desperately. 'What's the problem?'

She didn't like interrupting him but she couldn't bear to hear him apologise. Not again. She wouldn't be able to handle it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, settled further back into his seat and crossed his legs.

'His owl post is monitored. His Floo connects directly to the Department of Mysteries and as his personality can be found to be lacking, he has no known friends. A house-elf tends to his home and keeps him well fed. In short, the man has no reason at all to ever leave his home. His sole purpose in life is his work, socialising is the least of priorities. He is in fact known to have as much a friendly disposition as that of Alastor Moody. On the rare occasion he is so inclined towards human contact, he seeks the company of others, not the other way around. Suffice it to say, were I to suddenly fancy a cup of tea with the man, it would be highly suspicious.'

Great, she thought. Her life and by default the fate of the world, lay in the hands of a hermit with a dislike for human contact.

'-taken to having me followed. Just the other day, I became aware that my own movements are highly monitored as well. An older gentleman followed me all throughout Hogsmeade. From Scrivenshafts to Zonko's, he was there. He was soon replaced by a young woman, whom I'd recognized walking these very halls only a year prior. She followed me into a shop. Remained there the length of time I did, bought all that I did, and left seconds only after I myself departed. Why the Dark Lord would be interested in the type of hair care products I use is admittedly, most disturbing.'

She couldn't help it, she smiled. It felt foreign and odd. Like her facial muscles were just now trying a new exercise for the first time.

Something in her face must've shown because his eyes roamed over her face. His stare, contemplative.

She was a book again. She looked away and stared down at her joined hands. Her jagged nails were bitten down to the nub. A few had bled. She didn't remember biting them.

After a prolonged silence, in which she felt the full weight of his calculating gaze, he spoke. 'Needless to say, reaching Mr. Croaker had proven to be a most difficult task. Moreso than at first anticipated. However, after much work on behalf of Alastor and Gideon, he reached out to me. He arrived late last night, and after Veritaserum, many reassurances and vows, he took the Time-Turner with him.'

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, _'What?'_

She was not stupid. Whatever else she may have become, her intelligence was the one thing that had not yet failed her. Hermione had known long before tonight, that her situation was much worse than he was letting on. Far more complicated than she was allowing herself to accept. She had touched the Time-Turner with blood soaked fingers, and the golden trinket had shined silver soon after. It did not take a genius to figure out that that was decidedly not normal. That Dumbledore had become increasingly agitated over these past few weeks only worked to prove the fact. That he had now allowed the Unspeakable to take the powerful object away from Hogwarts spoke of a growing desperation.

Which meant that Dumbledore didn't know what to do.

_She may not be able to go home._

Panic. Sudden and wild ran through her. Overtaking all her senses.

She struggled for breath as her chest tightened. Her vision blurred and her palms began to sweat.

The one thing that could help her was out _there._ Away from Dumbledore. Away from _her._

Unprotected.

The large room suddenly felt too small.

The walls were closing down on her.

'Miss Granger...?'

The room spun. No. It was shaking.

Trembling. Crumbling. Falling. The walls were going to crush her. She was going to die.

'Hermione?'

The walls were morphing. She was back in the cellar. She couldn't breathe. She needed oxygen!

_Where was the window?!_

A cold rush of air invaded the room.

Rain.

She smelled rain.

She shivered and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

Somewhere thunder roared and the wind howled. Lightning flashed and the room continued to shake.

Sounds were muddled.

She was trapped and alone again, no, she wasn't alone. Someone was talking.

She looked upwards and found the small rectangular window. The grass, swaying violently in the turbulant wind.

Were they the ones calling her?

She trembled from the cold as she took rapid breaths. A strong, reassuring pressure gripped her shoulders.

_'Hermione!'_

She looked away from the small window in search of the sound and found a pair of blue eyes an arm's length away.

Blue eyes. The Woman.

Hermione fought to break free from the older witch, but her grip was too strong.

A woman was screaming. A deeper voice was yelling. A man. _'Breathe!'_

A mouth. A white beard. A crooked nose.

Dumbledore.

He was the one shaking her, ordering her to breathe. Terrified eyes drifted over the cellar.

Had Dumbledore rescued her? Was she safe now?

_The Woman!_ Where was she?! Had she gone?

She turned to look over her shoulders, but the elder wizard's hold remained firm.

_'Look at me Hermione!'_ he demanded with a firm shake. 'Eyes on me! Now _breathe.'_

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another.

Sturdy arms encircled her.

Realization slowly flooding back.

As it did, the cellar disappeared and her room returned.

Lightheaded, Hermione's knees gave away and she crumbled to the stone floor.

At the last second, the room supplied a soft cushion. It never registered. Nor did the fact that the headmaster had joined her on the dirtied floor.

Desperately clinging to Albus Dumbledore, she sobbed against his chest as the powerful wizard held her to him.

She wanted to go home.

When her tears were finally spent, she fell into a restless sleep.

She had been awake three days.


	3. Blood

Thanks again to my wonderful beta _TheUnrealInsomniac_ for taking his time to polish and shine this behemoth of a chapter.

* * *

**Silver**

Blood

* * *

When Hermione opened her eyes the next day, she had been moved out of the Room of Requirement.

To say it had been unexpected or that it had caught her off-guard would have been a lie. Having an overdue panic attack in the presence of her former headmaster was bound to leave an impression after all.

Hermione understood his reasoning, accepted it even. She would go as far as admitting that it was the right decision. That didn't mean she had to like it though.

Back in the circular room and away from the safety of wish fulfilling and book supplying walls, Hermione had been forced to think. And the more she thought, the more things were beginning to seem bleak.

No longer in seclusion, voluntary or otherwise, and with no research allowed, Hermione had to reluctantly accept the fact that her situation was spectacularly out of her control. As Dumbledore had told her, answers to magic of that calibre would not have been found in a schoolbook.

Before she knew it, another week had passed. Bringing her time in the past to a total of two months.

It felt longer.

It came as a huge relief eight days later when Dumbledore summoned her to his office.

As she made her way up the secret passage, which connected her room to his study, she could hear two men speaking. One was clearly Dumbledore but the other she didn't know. The Headmaster called him Croaker.

Saul Croaker resembled a walking, talking potato who snored with each inhaled breath.

Thick, salt and pepper eyebrows above small beady eyes, gave him a perpetual glare. His eyebrows were the only bits of hair on his entire head.

He was short and as round as Professor Slughorn had been and as the Headmaster had previously reported, a grouchy bugger.

The way he spoke, it was clear that he was long accustomed to having his orders followed. His tone that of a man used to being right.

To the Headmaster she may have been a book, but underneath all the inquisitive glances, he still saw _her._ When Croaker looked at her, it became obvious that he was seeing an interesting object. A thing. Meant to be studied, poked and prodded. To him, Hermione was a specimen.

She didn't know which irritated her more, that he looked at her that way or that she didn't really blame him.

Five minutes into their meeting, the young witch began to dislike him.

Especially because he kept finding holes in every plan she or Dumbledore proposed.

'In theory,' argued the Unspeakable yet again, 'that is correct. In all actuality, it's a fairy tale made to give a happy ending. In the real world, it is not that simple. One cannot simply travel through time as they please! The idea of time-travel itself is farfetched, but traveling _back_ to the future?! That's completely absurd!'

'There has to be something other than letting time catch up to itself,' she said through gritted teeth.

'In theory, yes. Factually, no. So no Miss Granger, I cannot simply give you another Time-Turner to use. As I have said to you both repeatedly, only a Time-Turner from the present time can be used. I can easily give you another one, but _it. Won't. Work!_ A Time-Turner cannot travel to a place that does not exist. Only a Time-Turner from your time would be able to return you to your correct timeline, otherwise the magic fails and the time piece overheats causing it to melt.'

'What is the metal made of?' asked Dumbledore. 'Gold?'

Croaker nodded. 'That was my question as well. Time-Turners are no longer produced, not for well over a century. Presently, we only study the magic behind them and their effects, not their actual properties. I had to dig into the old archives until I found documents which detailed the actual forging of a Time-Turner. In its planning stages, many metals were tried and tested. Most failed or cancelled out the magic. Eventually, someone figured out that gold was the best conductor for this particular spell. Problem was, they melted soon after.'

'Stronger gold was needed...' Dumbledore's curious gaze settled on the powerful trinket. 'Goblins.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'I thought Goblins only used silver...?'

Croaker shook his head, 'A common misconception.'

'Goblins specialize in silver as it is most susceptible to their magic,' explained the Headmaster. 'However they are first and foremost master metal-charmers Miss Granger. Of all metals not just silver.'

Croaker nodded in agreement as he flipped a few pages, stopping at a diagram of an older and thicker Time-Turner. 'Yes. The goblins were paid for their services and we now had stronger gold. Charms were then added to them-'

'Which spells?'

'Wait a second.' The shorter man flipped ahead, quickly running a stubby finger down each page. When he found what he'd been looking for, he flipped the book over presenting it to Dumbledore. 'An Hour Reversal Charm, a Localized Containment Charm, a Temperature Regulating Spell, Safety and Protection Spells, Spatial Charm and a Flesh Memory Spell. Seven total. Any more than that and the Time-Turner begins to malfunction.'

'So it's Goblin forged gold, charmed with powerful spells, and impregnated with my blood,' she said.

Croaker's bit his bottom lip. 'Yes. There is another factor as well... the Time-Turner that the woman took, that you used, was not for years. It was for months.'

Dumbledore looked as shocked as she was. 'I'm afraid I don't understand Professor.'

_'Months?'_ she asked.

The Unspeakable looked like he'd sucked on a lemon. He opened and shut his mouth several times before he spoke. He clearly didn't want to share whatever it was that he was about to say. 'Several Time-Turners were made. This one, prior to its transformation, was one of several Month Time-Turners.'

'Whenever a new spell is created, more often than not, it becomes a matter of excess. Was that the case Professor?' asked Dumbledore.

The shorter man gave a reluctant nod. 'It was no different when Hour Reversal Charms were discovered. Before a spell becomes patented, we are assigned to judge its safety and test its limits. As you may be able to guess, there was an urgency to find this particular spell's limit. Eventually, an hour became a full day, days turned to weeks. Weeks became months until finally, we held the power of infinite time on our hands. As of today only three kinds of Time-Turners exist. Hours, the only one most of the population know of. Months, which only a handful of individuals are able to access. And years, which only I and the Department Head - and now you two, are aware of.'

Hermione slammed her eyes shut, desperately trying to calm the tension building behind her eyeballs. As interesting as all this was, it was completely pointless.

'What does this have to do with me?' she spat out.

'Everything,' Croaker said. 'It tells me that the magic was completely affected. It also tells me that the Unspeakable did not mean for you to travel this far back in time. She meant to only send you a year and eleven months in the past.'

The headmaster frowned as her mouth fell open, 'To ... 1996?'

Professor Croaker nodded. 'July 1996 to be exact.' He gestured to her with a lazy hand, 'That is if you were still in the month of May when she sent you here.'

She furrowed her brow as she struggled to clear her mind.

_July '96? _What happened in - and then it dawned on her.

The 'start' of the Second Wizarding War. When the Ministry had officially acknowledged Voldemort's return and brought the war out into the open.

'Judging by your stunned silence, I take it the period was of some importance?'

Nodding, she opened her mouth to answer when he made a shushing gesture.

'It does not matter!' he said loudly. 'I shouldn't have asked! My point is, that her intent was not to send you this far back. All signs point to it. You were meant to travel to July 1996 Miss Granger. Had she succeeded ...' Croaker shook his head, once again waving his hands in the air, 'Doesn't matter! That's an entirely different story... It all amounts to this: the Time-Turner failed. And more than once.'

Dumbledore's voice cut through the air, 'How?'

Croaker licked his lips, 'I have a theory.'

The Unspeakable turned to her.

'You turned the hourglass twenty-three times correct?' At her nod, Croaker continued. 'Had the Time-Turner been successful, you would not have travelled to 1979 Miss Granger. If a single turn equalled a year, then you should have travelled to 1975.'

Hermione swallowed a painful lump in her throat. 'I don't understa-'

Dumbledore abruptly interrupted her. '-What year were you born Miss Granger?'

'1979,' she answered nervously. She'd found it a bit ironic that she had travelled to her birth year but with that single question, it suddenly didn't seem so coincidental anymore.

Croaker's eyes lit up. 'I knew it! The Time-Turner brought you back to the year you were born, but no further. That is not part of its magic. _Do you know what this means?_ The Time-Turner actively stopped functioning. A normal time piece would have been unable to do that. It would have sent you to the appropriate time, equal to the exact amount of turns.' The Unspeakable's bright eyes moved over the silver artefact. He was actually flushed and panting. 'Whatever this is,' he breathed. 'It is unlike anything I have ever seen before.'

'Her blood altered all its magical properties,' murmured Dumbledore as he too studied the Time-Turner. Croaker once again nodded.

'Somehow,' continued the Unspeakable. 'It mutated the Time-Turner's magic.'

'How?'

At her question, Croaker visibly deflated. 'I don't know.'

Hermione absentmindedly fiddled with her sleeve, refusing to look up as she asked the question she'd been anxious to ask. 'Could that be why my magic has been so affected?'

The silence that followed was loud to her ears. She felt several pairs of eyes, painted or otherwise, staring at her. Humiliation and embarrassment raged through her, tainting her cheeks a rosy hue.

'Dumbledore did mention ... has your menstruation adjusted back to its regular schedule Miss Granger?'

Her blush deepened, and she felt hot around the collar as her body flushed with heat.

Eyes wide, and completely horrified, she stared at the Unspeakable. 'What does _that_ have to do with anything?' she asked. Her voice a note higher than normal.

'It has often been proven that a witch's menstruation cycle affects her magic and vice versa,' he explained. 'They are quite synonymous with each other. No logical reasoning behind it of course, it just is. By that reasoning, if your menstruation adapted then your magic should have followed.'

If that was the case, then her body had adjusted fine. Her magic on the other hand, hadn't.

She shook her head once, her eyes blurring with tears as frustration at her own body welled up inside of her.

'Then your magic has not been affected. In your situation, a case could be made for an Extreme Emotional Upheaval.'

The young witch tried not to flinch. She really did. _Extreme Emotional Upheaval_ is what Dumbledore believed was affecting her magic too. She'd been rather defensive and a bit too stubborn about it.

There was an unspoken stigma behind losing one's magic. It made you less than a wizard, but a grade above a squib. Definitely, worlds apart from Muggles. The fact that one would permit such a thing to happen was not looked down upon exactly, but it was almost disgraceful. She wished her lack of power didn't matter so much. She felt disgusted at the truth of it, but fact was, her lack of magic bothered her.

She was a witch. Without her magic, she'd lost a vital part of herself. She was desperate to get it back. It was irrational she knew, to think her magic permanently gone.

_But._

What if it was? What if Dumbledore was mistaken and it never came back?

She was in the past. Where Voldemort was alive. With no magic.

Those facts were doing a number on her. Which in turn was inhibiting her ability to perform magic. It was a vicious circle.

Her magic wasn't exactly gone though. It was just ... faulty.

It didn't respond to her like it normally did, rather it came out in minor outbursts akin to accidental magic. It was frustrating.

To test her magic, and due to a lack of an actual alternative, Dumbledore had allowed her the use of the Elder Wand. The moment her hand closed around its handle, her magic had hummed and sang. It had been a heady sensation. With increasing excitement, she had waved the fabled wand ... and nothing happened.

She'd swished, pointed, jabbed and flicked it, reciting spells as she did. She may as well have been brandishing a stick. She knew the wand chose the wizard and all that rot but surely the Elder Wand should have at least given her _something?_

Prior to her arrival in the past, she had learned to master some wandless magic. Now, even with the world's most powerful wand at her disposal, she was unable to so much as make her toothbrush levitate.

She had been too overwhelmed with her situation to focus on much of anything. She had been physically unwell: her body weakened from lack of proper care, her mind far too distracted to say nothing of her emotional state. All these things had excused away her inability to perform magic.

Once inside the Room of Requirement, she'd had no need to perform spells. Now however, the longer she was here, the more she began to heal the more obvious it became that her magic was _wrong._

She nodded to no one in particular to show she understood.

'Is the Time-Turner still functioning?' Dumbledore asked, kindly changing the topic.

'It's possible...' the Unspeakable slowly answered. He shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'Can the effects be reversed somehow?'

Croaker sighed and the sound inexplicably caused her anger, which was so close to the surface these days, to spike. Hermione snapped.

'Do you know anything?' she screeched. Even to her own ears she sounded hysterical.

'Hermione! That is not helping.'

She looked away from the foul little man that didn't know anything. Dumbledore should have let her research. She would have had some answers by now. All that the man had said amounted to nothing. The potato was talking, but he wasn't saying anything. Okay, granted the 1975 thing was new but she didn't care. She just wanted to know if - how - _how_ she could get back to her time. Everything else was pointless.

Croaker wasn't telling her what she wanted to hear. The implication of what that might mean caused the pressure in her chest to tighten.

A comforting hand settled on her shoulder. A body, clad in warm silk robes, brushed against her side and the smell of sweets engulfed her. It was on these things that she focused. They were familiar. Safe.

Dumbledore's voice broke the awkward silence, 'Please Professor, continue.'

She felt the shorter man's eyes on her. Growing ashamed at her outburst by the second, she bit her lip and fought against the tears stinging her eyes. When she looked up again, Croaker was focused on Dumbledore.

'I already tried to clear all the spells, or _clean it_, as we say. It was unsuccessful.'

'What were your conclusions?' asked Dumbledore.

'My conclusions were incomplete as the spells refused to budge. Which means that the spells didn't unwind and so the Time-Turner remained unaffected. It did not work!' Croaker's voice had risen higher and higher with each sentence spoken. She had the sense that the agitated man wasn't so much speaking to them, as he was thinking out loud. 'I have tried everything and yet... nothing. Not a single change occurs. It's obvious that her blood altered _something. _Yet, with the exception of the colour change, there are no other outward appearances... The hard part has been trying to figure out the _how_ and _why._ As of yet, I've been unable to find answers. Which was why I asked to speak to you Miss Granger,' he looked at her. 'With little to no details, I need you to truthfully answer my questions. Preferably with a yes or no. Can you do that?

Slightly frightened at his request and with a pounding heart, she nodded.

'Had you previously been in possession of a Time-Turner?'

A reluctant nod and Croaker blinked. 'Interesting,' he muttered. In a much louder voice. 'When you returned it, did I perform any counter spells on you or it?'

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. Everything had gone through Professor McGonagall. Until today, she had never met the man. Until The Woman, she'd never even heard of him.

For the first time in her life, Hermione realised that her first round with a Time-Turner may have been far more complicated than endless amounts of paperwork as Professor McGonagall had claimed.

_Never trust those who hold the power, to tell the truth Hermione._

'I-I don't know how to answer that,' she blurted out. Images of The Woman fresh in her mind. 'No to the countercharms and no to you performing them. I'd received and returned the Time-Turner through my Head of House. I'd not met you before tonight.'

'Your _Head_ of _House? _How old were you when you used this Time-Turner Miss Granger?' he breathed out.

She hesitated a bit too long it seemed because he began to coax the answer out of her. 'Just a number Miss Granger. It is quite possible that your age at the time, may have become a factor.'

Quietly, barely above a whisper, she answered, 'Thirteen.'

Both wizards froze. And _stared._

The longer their eyes remained on her, the more she began to feel guilty. As if she had done something wrong. An overwhelming need to explain herself came over her.

'I-it was so I could do homework.' It was as she said it, that she realised how utterly stupid it sounded.

It was the truth however, which somehow only managed to make the whole thing worse. She suddenly realised how careless and flippant the whole situation had been.

At _fourteen,_ Hermione had handled an extremely powerful and dangerous object, and had been allowed to run free in a school full of children.

_Why hadn't she questioned it?_

'Were you aware that you were in possession of a Month Time-Turner Miss Granger?'

'No,' she answered. 'I had been given an hour long Time-Turner.'

Brown eyes roamed over her face. 'Interesting,' breathed the Unspeakable. 'I am sorry to inform you Miss Granger, but that is not exactly correct. I found that an alteration was made to its runic equation, which serves both as identification and permits us the ability to adjust the amount allowed to travel. The Time-Turner you used was modified. It had been switched from Months to Hours.'

'Is that a common occurrence?' asked Dumbledore.

The Unspeakable shook his head. 'I am currently the only person able to change the Runes system.'

'How curious,' murmured the Headmaster.

She had to agree. The longer she thought on it, the more she questioned certain actions.

Could it have been an odd coincidence that she had been given a Month Time-Turner the exact year that the suspected mass murderer Sirius Black had escaped?

Hermione began to wonder how deeply Dumbledore's manipulations had gone. And she, who prided herself on her intelligence, had been too blind and trusting to question anything and accept everything. She didn't exactly like being used, but she understood it had been a necessary evil.

The young witch was acutely aware of their continued stares. Croaker's eyes were once again calculating. A hunger for answers evident. Dumbledore's face on the other hand, was completely void of all emotion. His poker face was truly impressive. His eyes betrayed him however, as a man who was blatantly trying to solve a puzzle.

Much like Croaker's in fact but without a mad gleam in them.

Furious at the fact, she met the Unspeakable's eyes with her angry ones until the potato-man blinked and looked away. Small insignificant victory though it was, she was fantastically smug.

Hermione may have been the stupidest person in the room, but she didn't need vast amounts of knowledge to tell that Saul Croaker had abysmal people skills and would be unable to hold eye contact for long.

In the time it took her to bask in her gloriously won battle, Dumbledore had recovered from his curiosity over her answers.

'Is it possible then that the magic was then enhanced by her previous contact?' he asked the shorter wizard, now hunched over the time piece.

Croaker made a humming noise in the back of his throat as he gave some head spasm that may have signified a _maybe._

'A Time-Turner's magic doesn't lay in the metal, but in the sand,' he explained. 'The _sand_ is what holds and activates the Hour Reversal Charm. The Time-Turner itself is nothing more than a fancy bauble and hourglass with flesh memory, containment and spatial charms woven into them. It is possible that her age was an issue, but highly doubtful.'

'Then _why...?'_ She forcefully gestured to the silver object.

'I don't know,' growled the shorter man as he raised his head. Frustration evident in his features. 'Blood Magic demands rituals, runes, potions... Mere contact should not have caused this.'

A flare of annoyance shot through her, 'You're an _Unspeakable!_ How is it possible that you don't know? Don't your lot meddle with everything just to see what would happen?!'

The short man cracked an unpleasant smile.

'Blood Magic is very powerful. Highly unstable and extremely dangerous. For obvious reasons, we avoid it. The effects of blood on a Time-Turner are unknown because no one is stupid enough to try. Tell me Miss Granger, would you have intentionally and willingly used magical blood on a powerful object? _Just to see what would happen?'_

She ... wouldn't. He was right and she absolutely hated that.

Hermione felt foolish and Croaker sniffed.

'Unspeakables may be the mad scientists of the Wizarding world Miss Granger. _Meddling_ with magic, at its most fundamental level, _is_ what we do after all. But not even we are that stupid.'

Dumbledore cleared his throat at that and two pairs of dark eyes settled on him. She felt like a scolded child.

'Is there nothing else you can tell us Professor? Is there any chance you may be mistaken? Any way at all that she may find her way back?'

Croaker's face transformed into a blank canvas at that, void of all emotion as he pondered the Headmaster's questions. Brown eyes, much darker than hers, moved to the Time-Turner once more. The Unspeakable's lips began to move as he mumbled under his breath. Minutes, which felt like a lifetime, passed until finally and without lifting his gaze, Croaker shook his head.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as a stab of pain shoot through her gut. Her knees weakened and she swayed on the spot. Pressure gripped her upper arms, gently settling her into a cushioned seat.

That was it.

Her last hope had been Croaker and not even he had been able to find any answers.

Hermione took deep breaths fighting against the tightness building in her chest, trembling as a tide of emotions threatened to drown her.

Her heart was breaking. She could _feel_ it.

'If that is the case,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Then we must find you permanent accommodations Hermione.'

Her vision swam and all the air left her lungs. She couldn't react, couldn't focus on anything beyond the words the Headmaster had spoken. Nothing, beyond them, registering anymore.

She was permanently stuck in the past, and now the headmaster wanted to talk about removing her from the school? _Now?!_

No. It was too soon. Everything was happening too fast. She couldn't be moved away from Hogwarts. She had to stay here. Hermione shut her eyes as she licked her lips and shook her head.

'I could be a student,' she said. Not at all caring that she'd sounded completely desperate. Because, quite frankly, she was.

Hermione couldn't leave Hogwarts. She couldn't.

Croaker shook his head, 'You would attract too much interest.'

Hermione eyes flew open and stared hard at the talking potato through tearful eyes. _'From students.'_

'Who write letters home, and inform their guardians of exciting news,' his tone one would use on a child to explain that yes two plus two, did indeed equal four. 'Even Death Eaters are capable of being loving and involved parents Miss Granger. One, if not all, will find it curious and worthy of mention that a young girl was given asylum within the walls of Hogwarts, when no other had been granted it before. No doubt the Dark Lord would find it curious and worthy of investigation.'

She glared at the foul little man. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him, she turned to the Headmaster. 'You could pull strings!'

Dumbledore gave her a curt nod. 'Quite easily in fact.'

'But you won't do it,' she spat.

'It is not that simple Hermione. The Ministry was infiltrated long ago. I do not yet know the extent of it.'

'-It's quite severe,' Croaker helpfully chipped in. 'I myself suspect a fellow colleague. Rookwood.'

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, looking at everything but him. Croaker raised salt and pepper eyebrows, 'Interesting.'

She turned to Dumbledore, 'I could be a Professor, a-an apprentice! I-I could help Hagrid!'

Croaker chuckled as he shook his head, 'Miss Granger, we are at war! Everyone is hyperaware of their surroundings. _Strangers are a threat._ A new Professor or student, who suddenly appeared overnight, would certainly not go unnoticed. And keeping you under the radar is now key.'

Hermione shut her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. She felt attacked by the potato and betrayed by the Headmaster. Didn't they understand? She had to stay here. It was the only place she was safe.

'Then what,' she spat, 'will happen to me?'

'You must be Obliviated.'

Brown curls flew through the air as her head whipped around to stare at the unpleasant potato-man. _'What?!'_

Croaker raised an eyebrow. 'Are you aware Miss Granger, of how utterly rude you are?'

Hermione blinked. Had he - Did _he_ just call _her_ ru- _'Sorry?!'_

The potato raised a hand in a placating gesture, 'It's quite alright. No apology needed.'

Her mouth fell open. She could not believe the nerve of him. Before she could say anything, Dumbledore intervened.

'I hardly think that is necessary Professor.'

Croaker clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to the elder wizard. 'You're biased,' he said plainly.

Without a hint of hesitation, the Headmaster gave a slight nod conceding the point. 'That still does not justify such drastic measures.'

'I disagree,' Croaker said conversationally. It was like they were discussing an article from _Transfiguration Today._ 'She is, in no uncertain terms, a liability Dumbledore. You know as well as I, that as long as she remains cognizant of the future, that she will continue to be a threat.'

Dumbledore didn't argue the fact. Nor did she for that matter. They both knew the blunt little man was right.

'She will not be Obliviated,' stated Dumbledore.

The Unspeakable shook his head. 'Are you so _sentimental_ a creature that you would risk the future for a single girl?' he'd said sentimental like you would a curse.

The Headmaster didn't blink, did not so much as move, but his voice grew cold. 'Miss Granger has suffered more than enough Professor. She will not be touched.'

Completely unfazed by Dumbledore's tone, Croaker moved his hand in a flippant gesture. 'Obliviate her and she'll get over it.'

'No,' the Headmaster said firmly.

And for the first time, Croaker became impatient. A hint of anger broke through the Unspeakables words, 'Why not?'

'She has a right to her own memories Professor.'

'She does not exist!' hissed the Unspeakable.

'She is a human being.'

Croaker glared. 'She does not belong!'

At his words, Hermione snapped. _'She_ is right here!'

'-and _that_ is exactly the problem!' spat Croaker.

Hermione glared at the round wizard.

'-You think I wanted _this?'_ she hissed as angry tears threatened to fall. 'How _dare_ you act like I did this on purpose!'

'Sweet Jesus,' growled the Unspeakable as he massaged his temple. 'You poor, _poor_ girl. Traveling to the past and _surviving._ At least you're alive! Did it ever occur to you, you inconsiderate little girl, that the only way this Unspeakable of yours was able to steal the Time-Turner was to _literally_ take it over my dead body?'

Hermione paused. Actually ... she hadn't.

The curly haired witch didn't know the man, but everything she had witnessed told her enough about his character. There was no doubt in her mind that, as unpleasant as he may be, he would not have given in and just handed over the powerful trinket. Everything in her told her that the wizard would - _had_ - died doing the right thing. And that, if nothing else, demanded her respect.

A pang of shame came over her.

She stared at the short, bald man, as he shook his head sadly. 'To think of all my unfinished work left in the hands of bloody morons... Who'll feed the brains and tickle the planets?' He groaned as he ran a hand down his face. 'The Death Chamber.'

Memories of planets, brains, orbs and purple flames came to mind. An old ache burned through her torso. She thought of falling...

'Is that what the veil room is called?' she asked, completely uncaring of the fact that her question would be very telling.

Croaker turned to her. 'No,' he said slowly, his eyes rapidly scanning her face. 'The veil room is The Veil Room... The Death Chamber is a different room, the contents of which doom and destroy, ruin and suck away at our very life source... It is essentially a black hole. The room is usually locked.'

'I'm sorry... Are you talking about The _Love_ Room?' she asked, equal parts amused and incredulous.

'Yes,' answered the Unspeakable curiously, even as he frowned. 'What's the difference?'

Hermione shook her head, not the least bit shocked at his outlook on love. When Croaker spoke again, his tone was professional and very matter of fact - but much quieter than before.

'I insist that you remove all evidence of her arrival Headmaster. Including her own memories.'

For several minutes, Dumbledore said nothing.

'I understand your concern Professor, and I appreciate your opinion...'

Croaker straightened his back and squared his shoulders as the Headmaster continued to talk. It truly was a sight to see as the round Unspeakable, in all of his five foot something splendour, stood in opposition against the taller frame of the Headmaster's.

It was like watching a kitten as it tried to stop a train.

Croaker didn't stand a chance. He knew it. She knew it. The Headmaster knew it. And yet... he stood tall and proud as he opened his mouth to argue on behalf of the world, for a future he suspected was in danger.

_Saul Croaker had died a hero._

'-What will you do when she can no longer remain passive Dumbledore?' he interrupted the powerful wizard. 'When the deaths pile up and she can no longer sit idly by?'

Dumbledore took his time before answering. 'I can assure you that that will not happen. Hermione understands the risks.'

'-Understanding the risks means nothing when human emotions become involved!' growled Croaker.

'Unspeakable Croaker,' said the older wizard. 'I give you my own personal guarante-'

_'-For God's sake!_ Your guarantee means nothing! Face the truth Dumbledore! _You can't control her any more than I can control you!'_

His words rang across the room, the enormity of them rendered everything mute.

Not a single painting moved, even Fawkes stopped his distracting scratching. All eyes settled on the shorter man. 'Powerful you may be Dumbledore, but that does not give you the right to jeopardize the fate of the world for the life of a girl.'

Dumbledore gave him a curt nod that was more noncommittal than anything else. The Unspeakable's eyes burned with anger as he stared at the Headmaster. After a prolonged silence, he turned to face her. Hermione's heart beat wildly in her chest. She really didn't want to hear anything he had to say.

He looked her straight in the eyes.

'In 1899,' he began without preamble, 'an Unspeakable became trapped in the year 1402 for a period of five days. During that time, reports began to come in of Wizards and Muggles alike vanishing from thin air. The most interesting tale of which involved an older woman, a midwife in fact. Imagine her confusion and shock when in the middle of birth, the baby suddenly vanished from within the birth canal, and the father disappeared before her very eyes. To her utter horror, she had to explain to the distraught mother that she had been in the process of giving birth and that that was the reason as to why she was bleeding so profusely between her legs. In the blink of an eye, the young woman had forgotten all about the existence of her husband and refused to believe that she had ever been with child, even as her body continued to bleed. When we finally managed to retrieve Unspeakable Mintumble, we asked her to recount all her actions. Nothing damaging, she claimed. She appeared in the past and hid in the woods soon after. She'd had zero contact ... with the exception of one. She admitted to having spoken to a man she had accidentally come across. She swore she only stopped him to ask the date and that once given, he'd continued on his merry way. Contact between the pair lasted but a minute and yet, twenty-five people were _un-born.'_

Long after he finished, he continued to stare. It made her itch and she shifted from one foot to another. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she focused on his Department of Mysteries cloak. Its silver crest stood out beautifully against the royal purple.

As she watched, Croaker flicked his wrist and his wand fell to his hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore stiffen. The Unspeakable paid him no mind as he waved his wand. The books and parchment he brought flew back into his Mokeskin pouch. The Time-Turner however, didn't so much as move. Croaker seemed genuinely surprised and intrigued by this. The Unspeakable shook his head as he made his way towards the Headmaster's desk. He picked up the silver object, as started muttering under his breath as he rotated it between his thumb and index finger. The metal caught the fading sunlight perfectly, causing the Time-Turner to shine a beautiful faded yellow. With a final shake of his head, he unceremoniously chucked the powerful object into the furry pouch, which he then dropped on the large desk.

'I'll leave you lot to dispose of that,' he said to no one in particular.

He made his way towards the Headmaster, who was now standing beside the door. As he passed her, he stopped.

'Were I a powerful wizard Miss Granger, I would not permit you to leave this room with your mind intact. As it stands, I know my limits.' The wizard flicked his dark eyes to the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore before returning to meet her stare. 'I will be Obliviated Miss Granger - Don't look so shocked you silly girl! These are dangerous times and you are from the future. _Of course_ I'll be Obliviated! It's been Dumbledore's plan from the very beginning...'

Her eyes moved to the Headmaster, who didn't even blink at the accusation. When she turned back to the Unspeakable, she found him studying her face.

'I don't know who you are Miss Granger, but you were clearly of some importance. Don't try to deny it,' he hastily added when she made to open her mouth. 'A Time-Turner's flesh memory guarantees that only the designated person can activate it. I cannot begin to fathom under what circumstances I would have allowed you the use of one, a Month Time-Turner no less. Why I hadn't deactivated the flesh memory spell is beyond my level of understanding... Or why you were taken and held within the strongest runic circle only we Unspeakables are known to employ. As you are a Muggle-born, I can-'

Hermione gaped. 'How did you...?'

'-You understood all my Muggle references,' he said with a slight shrug. 'I can only assume that the dark wizard Voldemort has gone between now and 1990. Otherwise, you would have been rounded up and slaughtered long before you knew of Hogwarts or Dumbledore. Yet, here you are. Asking questions about your magic - but that is irrelevant ... All these facts point to the ultimate conclusion that you alone, were somehow important... Having said that Miss Granger, you will do well to remember that you do not belong here. This is not your time. All that you know must come to pass, as it is not your place to alter it. If you do, then unknown dangers posed to the future will increase. Your selfishness would result in unprecedented consequences, and you will have become no better than the Unspeakable who sent you here.'

With a pointed look and a swish of his cloak, Croaker was soon standing beside the headmaster who, with a parting nod, closed the door behind them.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. Unblinking, unbelieving, struggling to grasp the fact that yes that had just happened. That her nightmare had been made very much a figment of her imagination. She couldn't process it. Everything felt surreal.

A song broke the silence.

A melody so heartbreakingly beautiful, she knew it was her pain turned to song.

She'd heard it once before.

She turned her head in time to see Fawkes' eyes close as he stood perfectly still, it seemed as if the musical notes came from within.

An emotion, so similar to hope and love, spread throughout her body. Courage and strength filled her.

But it wasn't real. It was part of the Phoenix's magic.

The hope was false. The love was a lie. It was all fake.

And she wanted no part of it.

Numb, Hermione grabbed the Mokeskin pouch and slowly made her way back into her room.

* * *

'Are you afraid of dying?'

Sirius cleared his throat at the question. Shifting his arm a bit, secretly hoping that the blonde would finally get the damn message and move. His arm was getting tired. Plus her questions were getting too personal.

Marlene wasn't budging though. Completely at ease as she continued to draw patterns on his bare chest with a dainty finger.

He squirmed a bit more, went as far as shoving her head a bit, but nothing. She wasn't moving and Sirius was beginning to get increasingly annoyed with her games. He took his time answering her damn question.

'There's no real point is there?' he answered. 'If we die, we die. At least I'll go out fighting the good fight.'

'True enough,' she said. 'But that's still not an answer is it?'

He didn't respond. He didn't want to talk about this damn it.

Sirius knew girls liked to talk after shagging but he really didn't fancy a heart to heart right now. Or ever.

Sirius was many things. A man of deep and thought provoking words was definitely not one of them. Especially after sex and particularly not with her. He'd no problem with Marley's need for mindless pillow talk but he was damned if he was going to start sharing his feelings. It was too intimate and to start down that road...

Six years they'd been shagging. In the past two years or so, Marley had begun to drop subtle hints that she wanted more. As this year progressed, her hints had become increasingly obvious. She was clearly on a mission but she was gonna fail.

It was an odd limbo they were maintaining. She wanted more and though he didn't, he didn't want to stop fucking her either. They had been each other's firsts, but he'd not stopped at her. The truth of it was, that the curvy blonde knew exactly what he liked and he didn't want to lose that. At times he felt guilty. On occasion, it made him feel trapped and it completely fucked him off. Like it was doing right now.

'Are you scared of dying alone?' she asked. Her Scottish brogue soft and sweet.

He shifted a bit more.

Bloody witch had to know he wanted her off. Were she anyone else, he would have simply shoved her off and left. He'd done it plenty of times before but Marley had his respect and he refused to treat her like he did the slags.

He couldn't really describe what they were, except that she meant more to him than a random girl but less than a girlfriend like she wanted.

He didn't know when her feelings began but his first brush with death had urged her to really get to know him. In her words, to become a confidant. Someone he could talk to at any hour of the day.

He understood the heavily implied hints and though he'd twigged early on he easily ignored her by playing at being thick.

He enjoyed their hook-ups, she was a laugh and though she had the sharpest tongue of any bird he knew, he still wasn't interested in anything more.

Relationships were not for him. Especially now. His family already suspected he and Marley were more than friends. Darling Bella had been a bit too aware of her the past few battles. There was a possibility that the psycho bitch knew something.

Sirius had made it more than clear that he was only good for the occasional shag. He had neither the patience, time nor did he actually _want_ a girlfriend.

Marley was beginning to forget that.

Sirius moved his arm away from around the blonde's waist as he sat up. Pulling on his boxers and trousers as he stood.

'Sirius?'

He didn't turn to face her. Rather he walked around her room, pretending to be too preoccupied with finding his clothes.

'Yeah?' he reluctantly replied.

'What are you doing?'

_Fleeing._ 'Getting dressed,' he answered as he put his band shirt on. 'I have to get back before the missus begins to worry. She gets jealous.'

He turned his head to smile at the blonde now sitting up in bed, staring at him. The sheet had fallen to her waist, exposing her lily white flesh for his viewing pleasure. Hair mussed, deliciously pale pink nipples hardening as she bit her bottom lip.

Marlene McKinnon was a bloody siren.

He had to leave.

He'd been more than willing to use his hands and mouth to start her up for another round. But then she'd started talking and put a stop to any more fucking.

'You don't have to leave,' she said. Her sexy little accent tempting him much more than he cared to admit. 'You could spend the night. We'll put on a Led Zeppelin record, and I'll ride you to the rhythm of the song playing ... See which one of us lasts longer.'

To complete the very tempting offer, she winked. Which did wonders for that wicked little gleam in her deep blue eyes.

There was a reason why sirens were dangerous.

For lack of an actual reply, he laughed. It sounded forced and fake as hell.

Judging by the look on Marlene's face, she agreed.

The grey eyed wizard ignored the guilt he felt, knowing damn well that what she wanted he couldn't give. Sirius knew he had to stop this before she got hurt but he didn't want to.

He wasn't what she needed. He was all wrong for her and to delude her into believing otherwise was just wrong. He'd never actually told her these things however since he had a tendency of either putting it off or running away.

Sirius knew he wasn't the relationship type. If she believed she could change that, then she was sadly mistaken. He didn't have the courage to actually say it.

'Right then,' he said awkwardly, looping his arm back into its sling and trying desperately to make it seem like he hadn't just rejected her. 'Talk to you later?'

Marlene gave him a stony glare.

'Don't you mean fuck you later?' she spat, her accent much thicker. 'Talk to you later implies actual talking. All we do is shag.'

'Yeah... Well... Fuck you later then!' he said awkwardly.

He quickly made his way out of her flat. Wincing at the fact that he'd actually said fuck you later.

He never claimed to be a genius.

He made his way towards the alley behind Marlene's building.

A casual glance at the surroundings, he reached for his wand, and turned on the spot. He appeared in the middle of a small clearing with the familiar pop of Apparation.

He whipped his wand around making damn sure that no one had followed him. Once certain he was alone, Sirius relaxed as a gentle breeze greeted him.

All around him silk smooth blades of grass swayed and danced. Trees, Conifers and Oak he'd eventually learned, towered over him, forming a canopy of emerald and light green leaves as beams of moonlight escaped them to caress earth.

The smell of tree mould hit him next. Filling his nostrils with the scent of life, centuries old and yet rough with the sharp bite of new life coming from the leaves and grass all around. Cannock Chase was beautiful. He loved it here, it was so calm and so very very alive.

Upon inheriting the property from his Uncle Alphard, he'd instantly appreciated the land. The trees created a natural ceiling that barred his home from view and gave him ultimate privacy. It was part of what had made it perfect for Moony and later, when it became a necessity, Order headquarters.

He started up the walked in path of grass, he used to just Apparate closer to his cabin but the new wards Dumbledore had insisted on left him with an Anti-Apparation ward to walk through from the bottom of the hill. There was an Apparation point within the wards, but you could only Disapparate from it. He might have been the house's owner but the Headmaster's spellwork didn't discriminate. So ... walking.

It wasn't all bad.

Birds sang from up in the surrounding trees, tweeting out little calls to one another while squirrels and other small critters scrambled over the branches.

Every so often the odd rustle of fallen leaves gave away a bigger animal moving around somewhere nearby. Probably just a deer. He'd have been jumpy if he wasn't so used to animals coming near his cabin since he moved in. Not for the first time, he began to suspect that they were attracted to the cabin's magic.

Didn't really matter anyway, the most dangerous creatures in these woods were some lively stags. The Muggles in the nearby villages and towns had kept the animal numbers down and cleared out the real predators decades ago.

A slight breeze ruffled through his hair and Sirius sneered as the smell of animal shit hit him.

He tried his hardest not to breathe in through his nose as he continued his walk deeper into the trees. That was another great thing about his home. Unless you knew exactly where you were going, you'd be sure to get lost. A few Order members had learned that fact the hard way. Some more than once.

James had taken to calling his three house-elves as Sirius' Search and Rescue.

Five minutes later, he reached his cabin.

Shielded by a canopy of green and fading light, beams of moonlight shined around it. All wood and stone, rustic and serene, charming in its simplicity, his home was a relic of a time long gone. As he finally reached the door, it swung open on its own accord, welcoming home its master.

Like most magical dwellings, it was bigger on the inside.

Gone was the single shack, replaced now by a spacious three floor home. Rich hardwood floors beneath his feet, a large sitting room with a grand fireplace to his left, a luxurious dining room to his right, a master staircase directly before him and a flurry of activity all around him.

Sirius didn't bat an eyelash. He turned right, making his way towards the dining room turned operations room. Inside, pouring over paperwork, he found one of the Prewett twins. After two years, he still couldn't tell them apart. He'd feel guilty about it but because they were identical, he felt he was in the clear.

'Alright mate?' he said to the ginger.

An upward glance and a smirk firmly in place, told him which of the two he was dealing with.

Fabian then. Cos Gideon hated his arse.

The stocky wizard laughed, 'Alright, yeah. How are you mate?'

'Underworked, complaining, and bitter. How was your mission?'

The ginger shrugged. 'Not too bad. Could do with a bath, shave and some sleep though.'

Sirius nodded in agreement. The bloke looked like shit. 'I'll have one of the elves set up a room for you.'

'Cheers. Heard about the arm,' he said with a slight nod at the offending appendage.

'Yeah, it's alright,' replied Sirius, wiggling his fingers through the sling's opening. 'It still works, so not that bad. Just numb, a bit weak. Could've been worse.' He said for the hundredth time, still unsure as to who he was trying to convince. Himself or everyone else. 'Caradoc thinks it just needs a bit of exercise.'

Fabian nodded. 'Good. He gave you some exercises then?'

A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. 'Yeah. He told me to squeeze something several times a day.'

Fabian laughed. 'What do you do when your hand gets tired?'

'Swap to the other one of course.'

They both roared with laughter. Sirius gestured to the parchment and maps the ginger had been focusing on. 'Anything I can help with?'

Still chuckling, Fabian shook his head. 'Nah mate. Just writing up my report.'

The younger wizard nodded, he'd guessed as much. Bloke had been gone for two months, what else was he supposed to do here? 'Alright. Let me know if you need anything.'

'Cheers.'

Sirius turned to leave, entering the kitchen which was connected to the dining room by a single door. Sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of tea was James.

'Alright?'

'Fabian's back,' said the stag Animagus.

'I know,' said the long haired wizard. 'He and I were discussing my wanking habits just now.'

James didn't look up from his newspaper. 'Once nightly, twice on bank holidays and three times every first day of the month for luck. You're a lefty normally, but don't discriminate.'

Sirius beamed. 'Bless dorm room life eh?'

James raised his cup in mock salute as Sirius left the kitchen. Back in the hall, directly underneath the staircase, he entered the Order's makeshift hospital wing.

Elves scuttled about as Caradoc Dearborn, the Order's resident Healer, sat in his corner desk his quill scratching away, his glasses perilously close to the edge of his long nose.

'Healer Dearborn! How are you sir?'

Said Healer peered at him from over his glasses. 'Busy I'm afraid.' He rose from his chair, 'Do you need help kid? Your arm?'

'No I'm alright,' he reassured the man. Raising and holding said shitty arm to shoulder level for his inspection.

The older man walked towards him with a clinical and steady gaze. 'That is much better ain't it?'

Grabbing hold of his hand, he pressed down on each fingernail, so that all at once his nailbed went white and quickly turned back to pink as blood rushed back into the tips. 'Blood flow is back to normal.' He raised his wand and with the tip, pressed firmly down on the inner hollow of his elbow. 'Do you feel that?'

He nodded. 'Some.'

'Excellent. Now ... fingers spread, close and open your palm five times, then touch each fingertip to your thumb.'

Sirius did as he was ordered.

'Good, good. Any pain? Stiffness? Tingling?'

'Nope,' he answered.

'Excellent. Keep squeezing your sponge ball and increase your exercise. Again, stop when you begin to feel discomfort or weakness.'

'Will do.'

The older wizard removed his glasses nodding. 'What else can I help you with Sirius?'

He motioned to the three busy little elves around him. 'I was hoping to steal one of your nurses actually.'

'Well,' the older wizard said gravely. 'I sure as hell can't stop you now can I _Master_ Sirius?'

'Tilny,' Sirius said to the smallest elf, who was cleaning the glass doors to the garden and pond. 'Fix a room for Fabian.'

Caradoc cleared his throat.

'Please?' Sirius added.

With a smile and a pop, the elf disappeared.

He ignored the chuckling from the older wizard and his mutterings of spoiled rich kids with the utmost dignity as he walked towards the study which had become Moody's office.

He felt the residual tingle of an Impervius Charm long before he reached the door. Must be an important meeting going on. He turned back around towards the kitchen, where he found his messy haired best friend shaking his head as he slammed down the newspaper.

'The Prophet's lying again. It's blaming some Irish Muggles for all the shit the Death Eaters are doing..'

'No surprises there,' replied Sirius. 'Bagnold doesn't exactly believe in complete honesty does she? No doubt she's behind it.'

'Stupid fucking bitch is as worthless as the bastard before her!' growled James. 'Giants and Death Eaters destroyed a whole fucking town! And she's blaming _Muggles?'_

Sirius made to respond, but before he could a sparrow patronus flew in through the ceiling. Landing before the pair of them, directed at Prongs, it spoke with Dorcas' voice.

'_Dark Mark over Appleby safe house ... Death Eaters have gone ... House is burning ... Survivors are alive inside...'_

A rush of movement had begun before the Great Obliviator's message had ended as all around him he could hear Order members leaving. His heightened hearing picked up Mad-Eye's clawed foot stomping its way out the door, Dearborn was ordering the house-elves to prepare all necessary salves and potions seconds before he heard their crack of Apparation. Footsteps pounded all throughout the house, from beneath and above him. James too had sprung up and he could be heard yelling for Lily who yelled for Peter to grab hold of the Portkey and all at once the door slammed shut with a sudden finality and his home was deathly quiet.

He wanted to run after them, to help, if only to escape the eerie silence. His heart raced and he itched all over.

But he couldn't. With his arm, he'd only be a nuisance and a liability. Sirius reached for James' discarded newspaper and slowly made his way to the sitting room. His footsteps were loud.

Sitting on his favourite lounge chair, Sirius opened the Prophet and only then did he realise it was three days old. It was a bit worn around the edges from it having been read quite a few times.

Sirius had actively avoided reading the newspaper as he healed. Almost having his arm severed off was apparently a serious injury. The anger he felt after reading about Voldemort's victories gave way to a wish to destroy and a need for revenge, which didn't exactly help.

Outwardly, his arm was fixed. Inside, everything was slowly knitting itself back together. Though his muscles worked fine, his nerves didn't. Not only did he have a weak arm, it was numb from the elbow down. Every now and then the damn thing would begin to spasm. According to the good Healer, he'd been lucky he reacted and Apparated when he did. Otherwise the spell would have successfully severed his arm and proceeded to the rest of his body.

He hadn't been aware of it at the time. Blood pumping, his heart beating wildly in his chest, adrenaline fuelling his system, chaos all around ... he'd only moved to avoid a blinding flash. He'd dodged it, or so he thought. It'd not been until he Apparated and had to be stopped from falling over, did he realize how dizzy he was. It wasn't until Peter pointed out the blood, that he became aware that he'd been hit. Days later, only when Caradoc told him that his arm had dangled from a single thread of muscle had he even realised anything had happened.

According to Remus, Dearborn, as brilliant a Healer as he was, hadn't been able to stop the bleeding or heal the wound. Evans, of all people, had been the only one to know the counter-curse. When James had asked her how she'd known, a shaking and wild eyed Evans had mumbled something about potions and a book over and over again.

Honestly, he hadn't cared how the fuck she knew. Sirius had just been glad that she had. To show for it, he now had a thick, vicious looking scar inches above his left elbow and a weak and numb arm, with a month long holiday. He may hate it but he preferred rest over death.

So he'd avoided the newspapers. Which was understandable in his opinion as he eyed the bold headline _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Most Loyal Follower Leads Attack On Muggle Town!_

Bella's face was smiling back at him.

Taken in the middle of a battle, which could easily be called a massacre, spells flew behind her. Her hair blowing in the wind and eyes bright, she threw her head back in what was obviously laughter. The photographer had caught her unaware and the poor kid, going by his scuffed trainers, whoever he was stumbled over a bin and fell. Bella turned and a look of undisguised joy came over her features as she stalked towards him, raising her wand. The image then began again.

Sirius felt something heavy in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't shocked at seeing her unmasked. Bellatrix had never been one to hide her beliefs, nor was he shocked at her blatant refusal to wear a Death Eater mask. It was bold and careless. Perfectly her.

He'd stopped looking at her and focused on the black robed figures behind her, running in and out of the photograph. Wondering if _he_ was there.

Sirius threw down the newspaper, ignoring the mental image of a grumpy eight year old stomping his foot. He already had a photo upstairs, a mental one was too much.

He needed to get out of here.

Sirius made his way to the back of the cabin, ignoring the beauty of his pond, uncaring of the doe that watched him from behind a thick bush.

He walked towards a lonely shed and pulled open its door. Inside was the missus. Roxanne. The only woman he would ever need.

All chrome and matted black, she was freedom personified.

With no real destination, he mounted her and flew through the trees thinking of nothing, yet feeling everything.

As he reached the closest town, he touched ground. Without conscious thought and before he knew it, he'd found himself outside his favourite pub.

He felt the corners of his lips begin to curve and just like that, tension was replaced by growing amusement as he entered The Rooster in the Mule, an aptly named gay pub.

After two years, the locals knew him, so he was usually left to his own devices. Every so often however, a drunken idiot would try and tempt him with a trip to the loo or offer him a ride home. He'd been called a cock-tease a few times. It was amusing, annoying and slightly flattering.

He wished he knew why they kept coming on to him. It wasn't like he was actively flirting, sending mixed signals or leading them on or anything. Honestly, it confused him a bit.

Sirius pulled open the door, thoroughly enjoying the scent of beer that met him. Stepping into the pub, his eyes scanned the bar in search of a tall, black haired youth.

Sirius smiled and raised his good hand, wiggling his fingers at the glaring barman. In his campiest voice he yelled, 'Hey girlfriend!'

The pub's occupants all turned to look at him but he paid them no mind as he purposefully walked to the bar.

The young barman's scowl intensified with each of Sirius' steps.

Stood face to face, with only the bar between them, Sirius ran his eyes over the bloke, beaming.

'Oh my God hon,' with an exaggerated wink. 'You look absolutely fabulous today!'

In response, the barman pulled up a glass and put it down forcefully.

'The usual?' asked the bloke through gritted teeth.

Sirius' shoulders drooped and he lost the smile not appreciating the tone. Rude arsehole was clearly in a mood today. In need of cheering up definitely.

'A pint of Carlsberg yeah. Fish an-' he snapped his fingers. 'No. No! 'He exclaimed, 'No fish! Know what I'm in the mood for mate? A big, fat sausage ... shoved in between two buns!'

Snickers rang out behind him, the barman simply glared.

Sirius squinted back at him. 'Are you _always_ a grouchy bugger?'

The barman didn't bat an eye as he handed over his drink, 'Please stop flirting with me.'

More tittering from around them. He paid it no mind, watching the barman as he necked his pint.

'Do you enjoy seeing me swallow?' he asked holding out his glass. 'Same again.'

Again his pint was filled and slammed down harder than necessary.

He simply smiled, winking at the bloke when he presented him his sausage sandwich.

Before he turned away called by another patron, the barman's lips twitched.

Sirius mirrored it. The bloke loved him, truly.

He ate and drank, enjoying his meal. It was as he lit a fag, that he noticed a brunette looking at him from across the room.

Eventually, egged on by her mates no doubt, she slid up to him.

She reached for his packet of fags, pulled one out and held it between two slender fingers clearly waiting for a light. A glance later, he sighed.

The dozy cow stuck out her bottom lip, fluttering her eyelashes as she did. He didn't know if she was trying to seduce him or having a seizure.

Alright. Whatever. He'd play along.

He lit her damn cigarette. While she inhaled, Sirius finished off his pint. Half-choking on it, when he looked at her stupid face over the rim of his glass.

He hoped for her sake that she didn't lose her looks any time soon, otherwise the bitch was fucked.

He put his glass down and called for another.

Beside him, the girl simpered. 'I'll take a glass of Merlot if you're offering.'

He hadn't been but whatever.

'And a medium glass of Merlot as well mate,' he said to the barman. When their drinks finally sat before them, he turned to really look at the girl.

Light skin, brown eyes, brown hair, red lips and red nails. Stick thin. Small tits.

Her only redeeming quality were her Cupid's bow lips. They were the kind that practically begged to be wrapped around a dick.

He smiled at her, suddenly realising how interesting she was. 'What's your name beautiful?'

The stupid bitch's smile widened. 'Catherine,' she simpered. 'You can call me Katie though.'

He was extremely honoured.

'Yours?' she asked seconds before her dick-sucking lips puckered into a perfect little o, and met her glass. It'd been fascinating.

A moment's hesitation and then, 'Albus.'

He felt like an Albus today.

'Albus?' she repeated, scrunching up her nose as she said it. 'You don't look like an Albus.'

He had to agree, but he was determined to avoid the whole I'm-Sirius-You're-serious-about-what? mess.

Wordplay on his name had been funny, years ago, when he'd been younger and in Hogwarts. Now, it was just stupid and frustrating. The Wizarding community had a tendency of knowing about him through his family and surname, so they usually knew or had a vague idea as to what his name meant.

Muggle birds on the other hand, didn't. Sirius/serious puns usually ensued. Eventually he began to use other names just to avoid idiotic jokes that were supposed to be original and clever instead of irritating.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd pulled using his real name.

He nodded once, slowly stretching out his smile. 'I agree. I've been told I look like a Charles.'

Stupid bird enthusiastically nodded. 'Oh my God!' She laughed. 'You really do!'

He forced out a chuckle before taking a drink.

'So Albus... What brings you to the Rooster in the Mule?' She leaned in close, smirking. 'Not trying to pull are you?

He really did laugh at that. 'No,' he answered, still laughing. 'Why can't a bloke walk into a gay pub and order himself a drink without having his sexuality questioned?'

'Because it's rarely heard of,' she answered with a slight shrug.

Kitty licked her lips. Her lips really were quite impressive. If she hadn't worn so much lipstick, he'd have seen how soft they were. Instead, they looked slimy and sticky and completely fucking unappealing.

They'd just be wrapped around his dick then.

He turned his whole body in her direction. 'Are you wondering if I'm gay then?'

'No. Cos I know you're not.'

'Oh?' He said genuinely intrigued. 'How come?'

'Cos you keep staring at my lips.'

He smiled at that, winking at her as a blush bloomed in her cheeks.

Merlin she was too easy.

'So whereabouts you from?' he asked, only half listening to her answer. Not truly caring.

'Oxfordshire.'

Sirius made a vague nodding gesture.

'I've been there once. Only in passing, but it'd been a lovely area from what I could tell.'

'It is yeah. Drove through the area did you?' she asked, leaning into him so her knees were on either side of his.

Sirius nodded, he himself moving a bit closer as well. 'I was yeah. Grandfather had just passed and as the oldest son, I had to be in London for the reading of his will. So Roxanne and I drove past.'

Kelly stopped mid drink, '-Roxanne?'

Sirius smiled, 'My motorbike.'

Brown eyes widened. 'You've got a motorbike?!'

He laughed at her predictability, raising his glass and taking a drink. 'Aye,' he answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Roxanne. I'll take you for a ride if you'd like?'

Shockingly, the bird sang along to his tune.

'I think that sounds like a possibility,' she answered slowly, in what was supposed to be a sexy way. 'I do love straddling things and being taken for a ride.'

He blinked at her. Dark eyebrows were raised. Stormy eyes grew wide with mock surprise. A measured smile spread across his face. He lowered his voice as he leaned closer.

'What exactly do you like riding love?'

Kaylee bit her bottom lip, tucking hair behind her ear as her eyes looked down.

After a moment, dark brown eyes sought out his own.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' she asked flashing him a coy smile. Two front teeth stained red.

'I really would.'

'Wellll,' she said as she scratched a fingernail on the inside of his wrist, 'if you play your cards right, you may just find out.'

Sirius shook his head, chuckling before necking the rest of his pint. He had a feeling that even if he didn't, she would've given it up anyway. Birds loved a bad boy after all.

He smiled before signalling the barman for another drink.

He'd need to be drunk if he was going to deal with her attempts at seduction.

An hour later found Sirius in an alley pressed against a brick wall, the taste of wine and lipstick in his mouth as Karen kneeled before him.

Her hot mouth closed around his rigid length. Brown hair bouncing in tandem with her bobbing head. Bright red nails and lips standing out amongst all her pale and lovely features.

This is why he and Marley wouldn't work out. Because while she was brilliant, he loved the hunt, the chase and the spoils too damn much.

Marlene McKinnon was no longer a part of that. She was a temptation that his body reacted to but were it not for the softness and wet heat her body offered, he doubted she could keep him interested in the long run.

Marley was a siren but what he wanted, he thought drunkenly, was a- a fucking Valkyrie - _fuck!_

Pale eyes slammed shut and his head fell against the brick wall behind him. He grabbed a fistful of hair as he began to thrust into her mouth.

He didn't last long, nor had he tried to stop his orgasm. It had been what he'd wanted after all.

There was also the small fact that he'd wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

A few sucks in, it had become obvious that she didn't know what the fuck she was doing. She hadn't been great but hey, he'd had his dick sucked. So really, he couldn't complain too much.

He pulled out his fags and lighter. Enjoying the taste of tobacco in his post-orgasmic bliss.

Noises in his immediate left brought him back to the present. Fag clasped firmly in place, he pulled up his trousers and worked on his zip and belt as Kim coughed and gagged.

Honestly. So he'd cum in her mouth? Big fucking deal. She should take it as a damn compliment.

'You fucking bastard!' she spat as she in fact, continued to spit.

Sirius frowned. Now that he'd gotten what he wanted, he had zero patience for her.

He cleared his throat. 'Listen... Kerry.'

Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open. 'Kerry?' she sputtered. '_KERRY?!'_

Shit. 'Kandy?'

An angry flush appeared on her cheeks. So perhaps not Kandy either. Fuck it. Endearments then.

'Look Puddle Duck...'

Sirius inhaled as she began to yell and curse him where he stood, which was the last thing he'd allow the slag to do. Exhaling, he turned and walked to spot he'd parked Roxanne.

The slag followed him, cursing and calling him names all throughout.

He wasn't too bothered though, come morning the drunk bitch would have probably forget she'd given some random bloke head. Sirius was forgetting her altogether as he reached his parked bike.

She'd done exactly what he'd needed and now he was done with her.

'Next time love, maybe drink less and swallow more,' Sirius snarked at the drunken girl.

He didn't wait for her to spout out more drunken insults and with a push on the pedal his bike roared into life.

Sirius went off down a road he still hadn't learnt the name of but he knew there was an old Muggle pub on his right and a post office on his left as he turned right towards where the Muggle cinema was.

His head felt fuzzy and the sharp blast of cold March air was just the thing he needed to give his head a good clearing.

Sirius weaved an easy route through the streets until pubs and restaurants gave out to the fields and grasslands that let him know he was heading towards Cannock Chase and home.

Sirius considered lifting off the road once he passed another bloody church, Merlin did these Muggles love their gothic churches, his slightly sobering brain managed to remind him that there were still terraced houses to get past. And if he did use the bike's magic he'd probably get his arse in more trouble with the Great Obliviator again. He was finally feeling a little better tonight and he didn't need that bollocks.

_Bossy bitch,_ he thought fondly.

So he waited, passing a grand building that was used as a rather imposing looking bed and breakfast.

The streetlights were framing the hill that took him out of the houses' view and once he'd reached the top of the hill and was crossing over train tracks, he pulled off the tarmac and used the surrounding trees to hide his climb into the sky. The starry night illuminating his path much more effectively than the Muggle electrics ever could.

A twitch of his hand and the light switched off. He rose higher, into the space well above the trees but that was not yet open sky.

The moon, not yet full, was bright. Stationary stars twinkled through unmoving clouds above him, swaying trees and life below him. He felt weightless.

When he passed Dumbledore's wards, he flicked the headlight back on and instinctively lowered his height. Guided by the pull of home, he silenced the motorbike as he dodged and weaved through the trees. From the darkness his cabin appeared, lit by a single torch he parked Roxanne and made his way inside. Ignoring the silence he climbed the two flights of stairs until he reached the top floor, the whole of it his and his alone.

Uncle Alphard, while one of the few 'good' Blacks was still a Black. Opulence, he had to grudgingly admit, was rampant in his bloodline. The giant bed looked welcoming, the spring breeze coming in through the balcony was heavenly and he wished for nothing more but to fall asleep and surrender to blissful oblivion. But he couldn't. Sleep was a luxury. As it was, insomnia was a nightly companion. Which only grew in strength when he wasn't clean.

He stripped off his clothes as he crossed the room, towards the loo. A cool bath in mind. The moment he entered it, the torches lit up and he saw himself reflected in the mirror.

His naked chest was littered with still healing and fading bruises. Evidence of spells hitting their mark.

He couldn't see them but he knew faded scars riddled his back. The outcome of moonlit strolls and foolish adventures from his youth, back when he'd been convinced of his own immortality. Grey eyes settled on his left arm and newest scar.

A person can survive severed limbs, but not the blood loss.

An artery had been nicked, and with everything that had been going on, medical care had not been fast enough.

There had been a moment where he'd faded away. He'd heard noises and frantic voices and though they were distant, those last seconds of awareness had been enough for him to accept his death.

He stared at his face.

His mouth was stained bright red.

He shouldn't have panicked, it was just smeared lipstick.

He aggressively ran the back of his hand against his mouth. Violently rubbing, desperate to wipe off all the red.

In his desperation, Sirius stumbled into the door behind him. Wide eyed and frantic he whirled around, wand raised and ready to defend or attack.

He fell against his wall and slid down. Breathing heavily, sweat running down his body, Sirius struggled to breathe. Minutes, or perhaps several hours later, his focus was interrupted by the abrupt appearance of a patronus.

'_Appleby safe house has burned down ..._' said the silvery wolf, '_There were no survivors ... We're okay ..._'

His chest loosened as he took deep breaths and his shoulders relaxed.

Only then did he become aware of how tense he'd been. Of his sweating palms, shallow breathing and shaking body.

'We're okay,' he whispered.

_We're okay._

* * *

**A/N:** Hello again my pretties.

Sooo... I had a bitch of time with this chapter. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manage to get it out. It was too hard. When I finally fixed myself out, I realized it was too big and I ended up having a difficult time getting it all to fit. It was painful.

That's where Dave came in. Thank God for that English rose of a man. Dude sorted me out well enough, thankfully, and here we have an update. Huzzah and such. Btw, besides being a wonderful beta, he's a great writer. Check him out, he's in my faves list. If you guys like Harry/James family fics, then _The Reluctant Champion_ may be for you.

Speaking of authors, that toothbrush levitating bit? Total nod to my fave author/fic: _Tink Wolfe's The Thief of Time. _And speaking of nods, that _un-born_ bit was my version of time-travel issues, expanded on J.K's Time-Turner info from _Pottermore._ I love the character's backgrounds and sorted extras, so I'll be using those that fit my need.

Also, for those of you who've been with me from day one, know that I've posted up links to images of my dreamcast Sirius, Roxanne and Bella up on my profile page. As well as the song that inspired _Silver._

Anyway, thanks to all you who've faved and followed and reviewed. You're all lovely.

It was a long and hard one people, I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Kindly review. I really want to know your thoughts.

Erica.


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